


Pull on Your Pout

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Condoms, First Time, M/M, Older chocobros, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rebound, Slow Build, somewhat...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: There's Ignis: bookish, bespectacled — cute, but in an awkward sort of way.Then there's Iggy: confident and self-assured, with carefully coiffed hair and oodles of sex appeal.One of them is the nephew of Gladiolus's new landlord; the other is a random hookup in the alleyway beside a bar. What Gladio doesn't realise right away is that these men are one and the same.It seems their little arrangement suits them — at first.As Gladio comes to knowIgnisby day and gets hooked onIggyby night, it becomes harder and harder to separate the two...





	1. Chapter 1

Gladiolus looks up at the building in front of him, then double checks the hastily-scribbled note in his hand. The address matches up — yet he can’t quite help but stare in puzzlement at the place as if he must be somehow mistaken.

There must be a catch, he’s sure of it. No way this is the place.

Still, he checks the names next to the buzzers and sees the one blank plate signalling a vacancy. Clearing his throat, he presses the button and waits.

There’s nothing; no response. He glances at his watch to make sure that he isn’t early — or worse,  _ late _ — but he’s bang on time. Unless he  _ did  _ get the wrong address after all… 

He hears footsteps thundering up the steps behind him; turns and sees a man about his age wearing glasses, harried and out of breath, rushing up to meet him.

‘Gladiolus, is it?’ the man pants, extending a gloved hand.

Gladiolus nods and shakes it.

‘Terribly sorry,’ the man says. ‘I’m Ignis. My uncle got held up at work — he was the one you spoke to on the phone. I hope you don’t mind my taking over.’

Gladiolus is a little taken aback, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t care  _ who’s _ showing him the place, only that he gets to see it.

Ignis slips keys from his pocket and opens up the front door, holding it open and ushering Gladiolus in.

The entryway is narrow, but homely. Light streams in from a window over the front door, and when Gladiolus moves toward the foyer he lifts his head to see a staircase spiralling overhead, lit up by a skylight far above, sending a shaft of sunlight down through the floors.

‘No lift, I’m afraid,’ Ignis says. ‘It  _ does _ put some people off, but… I trust it’s not too much of a bother?’

Gladiolus leans on the metal rail surrounding the staircase and looks all the way up. He can see blue skies overhead, with a scattering of clouds; he can’t imagine a better view to greet him on his way home each day.

‘Nope,’ he says.

Ignis gives a curt nod, then gestures toward a door on one wall.

‘The laundry room,’ he says. ‘Communal, of course, but there are plenty of machines for everyone.’

He turns then, gesturing to a door at the rear of the building filled with an inlay of brilliant stained glasses.

‘The courtyard,’ he explains. ‘It’s a modest size, but there’s a shared garden that the residents from the block look after.’

He gestures to the stairwell.

‘Shall we?’

Gladiolus nods, then falls in behind Ignis, following a few steps behind.

It’s difficult not to stare at everything as he goes — at the ornate moulding around the doorways, at the windows set into the wall along each floor of the stairwell. Of all the places he’s seen over the past week or two, this is — by far — the nicest. He hasn’t even seen the actual apartment yet and he can feel the little thrum of excitement in his chest that has him fighting not to get his hopes up.

‘It’s mostly older residents,’ Ignis says as they walk, ‘so we  _ do  _ ask that you keep noise at a reasonable level.’

‘Not a problem,’ Gladiolus replies. ‘Not big on noise.’

By the time they get to the top, Gladiolus is glad that there are only five floors; with no elevator, it’s a bit of a hike. He can’t much complain, however, when they arrive at the top, right beneath the skylight, and it feels as though the clouds are almost close enough to touch.

Ignis catches him looking; when Gladiolus finally drags his glance back earthward, Ignis is smiling faintly.

‘It’s rather nice up here when it’s raining,’ he says, before turning to unlock the door.

The apartment is a little on the small side, and Gladiolus suddenly understands the price — it’s big enough for  _ him, _ but most people house-hunting in this part of town are wealthy young professionals, unwilling to settle for anything short of perfection.

To him, this is about as perfect as it gets.

The front door opens onto an open plan living space. A window overlooks the courtyard, giving the room a bright, airy feel. Another window on the far side overlooks the street with a view of the city skyline.

‘You have all the mod-cons,’ Ignis says, gesturing toward the kitchenette. ‘Do you get much of a chance to cook?’

Gladiolus opens his mouth, then shakes his head. He’s sure this guy doesn’t want to hear about his ex, who used to do all the cooking.

Ignis leads him to the bedroom next, and even though it’s a little cramped there’s a set of double windows opening out onto a balcony that Gladiolus can’t help but gravitate toward. Ignis slips past the double bed and squeezes around him, unlatching the windows.

The sounds of the street fill the room — the noise of cars below, the hum of the city’s heartbeat. When Gladiolus closes his eyes and tunes it all out, he can hear the breeze skirting by the window, setting the voile panels rustling.

Ignis waits until Gladiolus opens his eyes before resuming the tour.

‘Walk-in wardrobe,’ he says, with a nod toward the sliding doors inset into the wall. ‘The bed is included, although if you have your own, something a bit larger would fit comfortably.’

Gladiolus glances the bed over and gives a shake of his head.

‘This one is perfect,’ he says.

Ignis shows him the bathroom next, and once again Gladiolus finds himself wondering what the catch is. There’s a bath — an actual, real tub, with the original taps and claw feet. He can already imagine the first bubble bath he’s going to take, and even if he has to bunch up a little to fit his broad frame in, he doesn’t care.

‘No electric shower, I’m afraid,’ Ignis says, somewhat meekly, with a gesture toward the traditional shower hose fitted into the wall. ‘The water is all heated by boiler. There’s underfloor heating, as well, which is rather nice in the winter.’

Ignis takes him back out into the main room and lets Gladiolus walk around for a while, exploring at his leisure.

Gladiolus feels like he looks everything over —  _ everything. _ He’s still convinced there must be something fundamentally wrong for this place to be in such a nice location, so affordable, and so attractive. So far the little ‘niggles’ Ignis has mentioned have done little to deter him.

‘So,’ Gladiolus says, turning toward the other man. ‘What’s the catch?’

Ignis blinks and cocks his head, unsure.

‘I’m sorry?’

Gladiolus lifts his hands, gesturing around.

‘Beautiful place, nice part of town, and I don’t have to sell my soul to cover rent,’ he says. ‘There’s gotta be a catch.’

He watches Ignis’s cheeks flush a delicate pink, and for the first time it occurs to him that the man is good looking, in a bookish sort of way. He seems incredibly, painfully straight-laced, however, so Gladiolus puts the thought from his head.

‘No catch,’ Ignis says. ‘I know it’s slightly… cosier than most people would like.’

Gladiolus folds his arms.

‘You mean small,’ he says.

Ignis nods.

‘I’ve seen small,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’ve  _ lived _ in small. Small is when your bedroom is a closet and you can’t move your elbows in the kitchen.’

Ignis clears his throat; Gladiolus can tell he’s flustered.

‘I assure you,’ Ignis says, ‘there is no catch. In truth, the last tenant had to leave suddenly, so it’s not technically on the market yet. My uncle was rather surprised when you called.’

Gladiolus thinks back to Noct, and how evasive he had been about the place — Gladiolus had assumed it was some work connection of his father’s, and that he had been embarrassed to admit it.

‘It’s available right now,’ Ignis says. ‘You can take some time to think, if you like, although it goes on the market this weeken—’

‘I’ll take it.’

Ignis stares at him in silence; he removes his glasses, polishing them with a cloth from his pocket.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he says.

‘I’ll take it,’ Gladiolus says, more calmly this time. ‘Just tell me where to sign.’

* * *

 

There hadn’t been much for him to move. The sum total of his life has filled the spare room of Noct’s apartment for the past month or so, and he was more than glad to finally load it into the back of his pickup and get going.

Noct had offered to let him take the spare room full-time, of course; probably wouldn’t have expected Gladiolus to pay rent, even. That idea had been bad on so many levels that Gladiolus hadn’t known how to refuse emphatically enough without coming across rude.

It’s getting dark now, the sunset lighting up the rooms in a faint pink glow. For a little while he just stands on the balcony off the bedroom, staring out at the city skyline. It still doesn’t quite feel real, yet here he is — he really landed on his feet this time, to use his father’s words.

Ignoring the bitter taste in the back of his throat at the thought of his old man, he steps inside and pulls the windows shut.

There’s an email waiting for him from Noct when he returns to the living room; he flops onto the couch and pulls his tablet into his lap.

_ Hey dude. _

_ I know, I know. You’re gone like 3 hours and I’m checking up on you. Clingy, much? Just wanted to make sure you haven’t set the place on fire (it’s only a matter of time from the guy who can burn ramen, amirite?) _

_ Lemme know if you need anything. I know you said you’re all set, but you’ll be there at 2AM trying to make eggs when you’re drunk and you’ll realise you don’t even have a frying pan. Trust me. It sucks. _

_ Prompto wants to know when the housewarming is. I think he’s feeling kinda lost without the resident jar-opener around any more. Pathetic. _

_ Seriously, though. You need anything, you hit me up. That’s what friends are for. _

_ \- Noct _

Gladiolus reads with a grin. They’ve been friends for years; it’s a little weird to go from being all up in each other’s business to living across town from one another. The plan is for Prompto to move in with Noct at the end of the month, so maybe it’s all for the best. That guy is a little more bubbling, bright intensity than he can deal with sometimes.

_ I appreciate the concern, but I’m a big boy. I can manage. _

_ That being said, when’s my first care package coming? The minimart doesn’t have Cup Noodles and I’m going into withdrawal. _

_ I’ll invite you guys over when I’m settled in. Gonna hit the bars tonight and see if there’s anyplace good. I’ll let you know. _

_ \- Gladio _

First things first: he needs to shower.

Ignis had shown him how to operate the boiler — had even left him a handy sketched out diagram — but he still struggles to get it working. Noct’s fancy, state-of-the-art alarm system had been bad enough; this step back into antiquity is complicated in its own way. When he finally gets it running, he heads into the bedroom and rifles through the clothes he has yet to pack away for something to wear.

While he waits for the water to heat, he loads up the Moogle Maps app on his tablet and looks for bars in the area.

There’s not a whole lot, other than the swanky places that probably have a dress code he’ll  _ never _ meet; zooming out a little gives him better options, although nothing jumps out. With a sigh, he sets his tablet aside.

It’s not like he  _ has to _ go out, but it’s his first night alone since… well, since before Pel. Nice and all as having his own place is, even the traffic noise drifting in from all the windows flung wide isn’t enough to drown out the silence.

He doesn’t wait for the water to heat up all the way; takes a lukewarm shower, towels his hair dry and wraps it into a knot behind his head. He pulls on a pair of dark jeans and a black tank, throwing his leather jacket over top.

It’s still early — probably  _ too _ early — but he grabs his keys anyway and heads out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up as Gladio runs into a stranger and can't quite keep his eyes off of him.

The neighbourhood Gladiolus now calls home is one of the little offshoots of the affluent commercial- and residential-zoned Via Alta district. He’s never had cause to come over this side of town, whether for business or pleasure, so it’s like learning Insomnia all over again.

He passes upmarket restaurants, exclusive boutiques, and jewellery stores that probably take in more in a day than he’ll make in a year. There are the bars, too, but they’re so intimidating in all their lustre that he strolls past without a second thought.

He follows a street at random, taking it off the avenue. It’s quieter down here, a little dimmer without the bright lights and glimmering storefronts, but bit by bit it starts to seem more like home as the places of business make way for bars and clubs.

He almost walks right by the place at first; the sign over the entrance isn’t lit up yet for the night, and there’s nobody on the door. As he passes, the sound of music drifts out — and it’s just enough to have him bobbing his head unconsciously as he goes.

He stops a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, and glances back.

The windows are blacked out, covered in posters and billings that range from years ago to months ahead in the future. He sees a poster about a burlesque act featuring ‘Insomnia’s most infamous queens’ and he realises, with a metaphorical light bulb going off over his head, what this place is.

He paces around a little, debating on whether or not to go in. Then, with the sheer force of will that can only be explained as a sudden onset of _Fuck it_ , he heads in.

It’s quiet inside, with just a few older patrons dotted around tables at the edges. There’s a woman behind the bar, tall — thanks to a ridiculous set of heels — and dark-haired and insanely attractive, and above her is a sign with the words FASCINATION STREET emblazoned in purple neon.

He slips out of his jacket and takes a seat at the bar, draping it over the back rest.

The bartender turns to him with a swish of her long dark hair, pulled out in places from its messy up-do.

‘Fresh meat,’ she says, quirking an eyebrow. ‘What can I get you?’

He throws up his hands.

‘What’s good?’

She rolls her eyes, but she turns away nevertheless and strides down the length of the bar, grabbing something from one of the coolers underneath. She’s wearing perilously lofty heels without so much as a wobble; she carries herself in her ultra-tight jeans as though they were her own skin.

The drink she sets down in front of him has a label with something like a daemon printed on the front, red eyes and yellow teeth leering out from the darkness. He doesn’t recognise the brand.

‘You seem like a beer kinda guy,’ she says, popping the cap for him and pushing it forward. ‘No frills.’

He takes a sip. It’s good; smooth and fragrant.

‘That’s me,’ he says.

‘So,’ she says — and he gets the feeling she’s not breaking the ice because she’s into him, but because she’s bored — ‘did your regular watering hole get shut down, or are you expanding your horizons?’

He lifts an eyebrow. Can’t a guy wander into a gay bar without getting the third degree?

‘I just moved to this part of town,’ he says, before taking a gulp of beer. ‘And my horizons are doing just fine.’

She looks him over, then gives a casual shrug.

‘Whatever you say.’

They make idle chit chat for a while; he finishes off his beer and she grabs him another. She’s talking about a band they have playing in a few weeks when the phone behind the bar rings and she saunters off to answer it.

He’s happy to sit quietly listening to the music alone — he did it often enough in his bachelor years, and he finds himself slipping back into it with ease.

When he finishes his beer, the bartender brings him a third without asking.

‘I’m Crowe, by the way,’ she says, leaning across the bar. Up close, Gladiolus can see a tattoo on her neck with the word _Luna_ in flowing script, a moon in the background. ‘Figure you might as well know it now before you’re a regular and it gets all awkward.’

‘Gladio,’ he says, pulling the beer towards him. ‘And who said I’m planning on becoming a regular?’

Crowe shrugs her broad shoulders.

‘Just a hunch,’ she says.

He marks the passing of time with beers and sporadic influxes of patrons. He knows he should probably hold back on the alcohol, but it takes a lot to get him buzzed, and he’s having a good time. Crowe may just be making nice in an effort to get him to come back, but she makes for interesting company nonetheless.

It’s not the busiest place he’s been to, but there’s a hum of life as the night wears on. By nine, there are enough people in that he has to raise his voice for Crowe to hear him.

The doors open, letting in a draught from outside; he turns his head reflexively just as somebody strides through the entrance.

The newcomer’s hair is styled up in a pompadour that must have taken about half a can of hairspray, yet he manages to make it look effortless. His eyes are ringed with dark makeup, artfully smudged, and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show a flash of collarbone.

Gladiolus tries not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. Everything about this guy — the sculpted cheekbones, the angular jaw, the _lips_ — is like somebody took a look into Gladiolus’s dreams and made them into a living, breathing human being.

The guy strides past, not as tall as Gladiolus but still towering on slim legs, and parks himself on a stool at the far end of the bar.

‘Stardust!’ Crowe shouts. She hops up onto the counter and they exchange kisses on each other’s cheeks before she sets herself back down. ‘Been _way_ too long.’

It’s starting to feel like intruding, so Gladiolus turns away and looks down at his drink.

A new song comes on; this one is loud and thumping, not to his taste. He glances over at the jukebox and sees a couple of younger patrons messing with it, probably barely old enough to drink.

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he slips off his seat and heads for the restroom.

He dallies, splashing water on his face and neck. His cheeks are a little red from the heat of the place, although he thinks it’s probably not obvious in the lighting of the bar. He’s not wobbly on his feet yet, either, which means he’s good to keep drinking.

By the time he heads back out, the song is over and something more palatable is on. The man with the pompadour is on his way back from the jukebox; their paths cross along the way and, with an easy smile, the man sidesteps to let Gladiolus pass.

Even as Gladiolus takes his seat, he can’t help glancing back over — sure enough, the guy with the pompadour is looking at him, and he flashes another smile that makes Gladiolus feel like his legs have gone wobbly.

 _You’re not in the market for anything,_ he reminds himself. _Not here, not now._

Still — it can’t hurt to look.

Crowe keeps gravitating back to the guy, and they talk so freely and easily that Gladiolus can’t help relaxing a little. Maybe he’s the lonely heart moping on his own at a new bar, but at least other people are having a good time.

Gladiolus turns his attention to his drink, thumbing the label. _Goblin Brew_ , it says. There are still stories and urban legends about the daemons, back when they used to roam the world by night; he can’t imagine actually _fighting_ one of them.

Crowe interrupts his train of thought, setting a beer down on the bar in front of him.

He eyes it up, cocking an eyebrow.

‘I… still have a beer,’ he says, tipping the bottle in his hand.

She puts a hand on her hip and leans forward, nudging the new bottle across the bar toward him.

 _‘Yes,’_ she says slowly, ‘but this one is from _him_.’

She nods her head down the bar. Gladiolus follows the gesture toward the man with the pompadour where he sits, legs crossed elegantly, watching with great interest. When their eyes meet, he tips his cocktail — something purple and probably lethal — and curls his lips into a knowing smile.

‘Did he…’ Gladiolus says, swallowing as he turns back to Crowe. ‘Did he buy this for me?’

Crowe laughs, her eyes going wide in disbelief.

‘Come _on_ ,’ she says. ‘Haven’t you ever been picked up at a bar before?’

When Gladiolus shakes her head, she groans.

‘Oh, boy.’

She moves to take the drink away, but Gladiolus’s hand lashes out — as if by itself — to stop her. When he pulls it out of her grasp, she shrugs and strides away to take care of another patron.

There was a time when he had been _good_ at this; when he could have charmed a girl out of her panties with a single look. When it had come to guys it had been different — of _course_ it had — but then he hadn’t needed to worry about it when Pelna had held his hand through figuring it all out.

He feels a lump in his throat. It doesn’t go away, even when he washes it down with a gulp of beer.

It turns out it doesn’t take long for him to finish his drink; once the last, foamy dregs hit his tongue, he sets it down and grabs the new bottle. He tucks his jacket under his arm and strolls down the bar, doing his best to act casual.

The seat on the far side of the man is empty, but to get to it Gladiolus has to pass him. He leans close as he does, and he can’t help breathing in the scent of him — something sweet, hinted with spice. He tries not to think of mouthing kisses down that long neck; tries, and fails.

‘Thanks,’ he says, just loud enough to be heard. ‘But you didn’t need to buy me a drink to get my attention.’

He takes his seat, and the man turns to him with interest.

‘Oh?’ the man says. He leans toward Gladiolus, resting his elbow on the bar and propping his chin on his hand. ‘How so?’

‘Well,’ Gladiolus says, pausing to clear his throat. ‘You could’ve just come over and said hi.’

His eyes are on the other man’s, where they stand out so starkly with all the dark black smudging them like warpaint; he doesn’t see the guy’s hand move until he feels it touch his thigh.

The contact is like electricity. Gladiolus has to fight not to shiver as _want_ winds through him, all leading down between his legs.

‘In that case,’ the man says.

He moves close enough to Gladiolus that he can be heard without shouting; close enough that his lips brush the stubble along Gladiolus’s jaw.

_‘Hi.’_

For what feels like a full minute — it can’t be more than ten seconds, tops — Gladiolus just sits there, breathing a little heavier than he’d like.

There’s still an insidious streak of machismo, a leftover from his college days, that tells him _he_ should be the one doing the chasing. He swallows it down, though, and when the other man sits back to look him over, Gladiolus resolves not to act like a complete chump.

‘So…’ he says. ‘Come here often?’

So much for that.

The man laughs and the sound is magical — Gladiolus feels like it’s a rare treat, one poorly earned with his clumsy attempt at breaking the ice.

‘It’s rather loud here,’ the guy says. ‘Shall we go somewhere a bit more private?’

* * *

Gladiolus feels like a teenager again.

He’s scared and he’s nervous and he’s _excited_ , and this stranger is pulling him along by the hand, leading him down the narrow path alongside the bar and he’s more than happy to follow.

It’s dark here, the street lamps shielded by the building, but there’s just enough light to see the shape of the other man’s jaw, the curve of his lips.

When they’re far enough from prying eyes, the man tugs at his wrist and pulls him closer, sealing their lips in a greedy, lingering kiss.

Hips press against Gladiolus’s, grinding slightly; the pressure is exquisite, and for a moment his mind goes blank as all he can do is reciprocate. Hands move to Gladiolus’s waist, tugging him in close, and he feels the man nip playfully at his bottom lip.

Trembling, Gladiolus cups the stranger’s jaw, angling his chin upward and kissing him hungrily.

He knows what this is — a rebound. He’s been around long enough to know they’re generally a bad idea, and that he’ll _probably_ regret this in the morning, but as the man’s hand cups him through his jeans, nothing tentative in the least about his touch, he decides to throw caution to the wind.

Gladiolus breaks away just long enough to catch his breath. While the other man works him through his jeans, Gladiolus leans down into the curve of his neck, mouthing kisses against his cool, smooth skin.

A soft moan sounds from the man’s lips; need surges through Gladiolus, all routed southward, and he nips his teeth into the porcelain of the man’s neck.

A hand grips his waist, fingers digging in to urge him on; he bites harder, sucking a bruise into the flesh just below the collar of his shirt.

He doesn’t know why he did it, but when he pulls back to inspect his work he feels giddy and drunk. Not from the beer, but from this stranger who hasn’t even given his name; whose touch seems to make him abandon all rational thought.

When the man looks at him, his lips are pink and swollen from all the kissing, and Gladiolus can’t quite dislodge the image of what they’d look like wrapped around the length of him.

Guided by instinct — by _need_ — Gladiolus cups his lover’s jaw in both hands and pulls him into a heated kiss.

The touch is gone from between his legs, and he feels himself sag with disappointment, but then there’s a little _pop_ as the button of his jeans is pulled open, and the tearing sound of the zipper being tugged down.

When the stranger slips his hand down under the layer of his underwear, touching him bare, he breaks from the kiss to tip give a low groan.

One step after another, the man walks him backward until he hits the wall behind him. Once there, he picks up a steady rhythm with his hand and Gladiolus can do little more than tip his head back up and look at the sky far above, stars barely visible through the shroud of light pollution.

Lips are at his throat, soft and warm and needy, and as he nears his peak under this stranger’s touch, Gladiolus can hear their breaths overlap, rugged and uneven, until they seem to intertwine in a single rhythm.

His vision goes white; maybe he lets out a choked groan, maybe he makes no sound at all. The man rides him through it, face pressed into the curve of Gladiolus’s neck, and when it feels like the world has finally stopped spinning he's still there.

Gladious has to take a few slow, laboured breaths before he can even think about moving. When he’s ready, he gently nudges the other man back a little so that he can kiss him, but Gladiolus finds his lips chaste.

‘Not tonight,’ the man says, with a smirk.

Gladiolus watches, nonplussed, as he turns and walks away, his hips swaying as he goes.

‘What’s your name?’ Gladiolus calls after him.

He doesn’t even break his stride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	3. Chapter 3

The floorboards are cold underfoot when Gladiolus climbs out of bed.

He’s been here for barely a week and somehow, in the process, it’s gone from spring right through to winter. He can’t help but groan as his breath fogs in the air in front of him while he hunts out some warm clothes to bundle up in.

So maybe the original windows are a mark in the ‘downside’ column; cold air seeps in through the frames as if they aren’t even there.

It’s not even like it’s that cold, he reasons, as he checks the thermostat. He just likes it hot. Maybe a little _too_ hot.

‘Huh.’

He looks at the indicator on the thermostat, set a little higher than room temperature. The heat should’ve kicked in about three degrees ago, if he’s reading it right.

Stifling a huge yawn, he pads across the floor in thick socks and heads for the boiler.

The instructions Ignis left for him are still there, well-thumbed; when he checks them against how he has it set, he can’t see what went wrong.  Maybe the damn thing is broken. _Great._

It wouldn’t be such a big deal, but he’s got the day off and he can’t sit on his ass with the place going through its own miniature ice age. He flicks a glance around the apartment, then heads back into his bedroom to grab his phone.

He’s had no reason so far to call his new landlord. Rent comes straight out of his bank account, and until now there haven’t been any problems that he hasn’t been able to resolve himself. He’s almost reluctant to break the trend as he scrolls through his contacts for the number, but he’s at a loss for what he’s doing wrong.

There’s no answer, so he leaves a brief message with his problem and hangs up with a sigh. Nothing for it but to distract himself.

He still has a few things to pick up from the store — maybe thermal drapes should go on his list too.

The water’s heated enough for him to shower, at least, and he bathes quickly and pulls his hair up, still wet, into a knot atop his head. Once dressed, he grabs his keys and wallet and lets himself out.

He can hear voices below on his way downstairs, but he’s learned to tune the noise of the other residents out. Apart from a brief but pleasant conversation with the sweet old lady who lives on the first floor, he hasn’t had much cause to interact with them.

As he descends, however, he thinks he recognises one of the voices — an accent from out of town; clipped and proper speech. It rings some bell distantly, in the back of his head, and for a good half-minute he stops on his way down, pausing to listen while he tries to place it.

It’s only once he sets off again, following the spiral staircase downwards, that he spots his landlord’s nephew at the door with one of his neighbours.

‘Of course, Mrs. Fabius,’ the man says. ‘I’ll be sure to let him know.’

The door closes and he steps away, and Gladiolus searches around frantically in the recesses of his brain to remember it, because he _knows_ the guy told him when they first met.

As their paths cross, the man smiles pleasantly and gives a wave of his gloved hand.

‘Another tenant?’ Gladiolus says.

The man nods.

‘My uncle owns a few properties around the city. Unfortunately it means I’m required to lend a hand, on occasion.’

‘Unfortunately?’ Gladiolus echoes, wryly.

‘That wasn’t _quite_ what I…’

He sees the guy flush, fidgeting where he stands; with a decidedly more curt smile he turns to continue his path downstairs.

‘Hey, uh,’ Gladiolus says, stepping forward to stop him. ‘Now that you’re here, you mind showing me how to use that boiler again? I think I’m doing something wrong.’

The man hesitates with one foot on a lower step. Gladiolus sees his shoulders rise and fall as though he’s sighing, but when he turns back he’s the picture of politeness.

‘Certainly,’ he says. ‘After you.’

Gladiolus leads the way and holds the door once he has it unlocked. He sees the guy — and _dammit_ , if he could even just remember what letter his name started with — eye up the place, as if he’s taking in what Gladiolus has done with it since moving in.

Not much has changed, granted, although there are small personal touches in effect: he’s moved the couch, for starters, since he doesn’t have much need for a TV. It sits by the window now, the better for him to read by daylight. The bookshelf in the corner, thrifted from a store a few blocks over, is already almost full to bursting.

‘Avid reader?’ the man says, with a gesture toward Gladiolus’s reading nook.

‘You could say that,’ he replies. ‘Beats video games.’

The man chuckles nervously, covering his mouth politely with his hand, but whatever’s so funny Gladiolus doesn’t think to ask.

‘So, uh,’ he says, heading for the boiler. ‘I guess the water’s working, but there’s no heat, even though the thermostat is set.’

‘It is rather chilly in here,’ the man says as he approaches. He opens the boiler cupboard and leans in, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he takes a closer look.

Gladiolus is surprised he can even feel the cold, in all honesty, with his sweater vest and gloves.

‘I think I see what the problem is,’ the man murmurs.

Gladiolus peers over his shoulder to get a better look.

It’s not that he’s checking — not _really_ — but as the guy leans down, his pristine collar, buttoned all the way up, splays out a little from his neck. And Gladiolus definitely _isn’t_ looking at the scattering of freckles running up his skin when he spots something that looks remarkably like a faded bruise.

Not a bruise. A hickey.

Gladiolus can’t help but smirk as he imagines this prim and proper dude, barely a wrinkle in his clothes that are almost stark in their utility, actually getting some action.

Good for him.

‘The timer is set,’ the man says, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s under inspection, ‘but you need to press this switch here so that it doesn’t override the thermostat.’

He points it out, then carefully removes one of his gloves so that he can flip the switch. Once it’s done, he pulls the glove back on and steps aside.

Immediately, the pilot light kicks into gear with a _whoosh_ and Gladiolus can hear the faint knocking of the pipes under the floor. He resists the temptation to kick off his shoes and socks to savour the inevitable warmth, setting for flashing a smile instead.

‘I owe ya,’ he says. ‘Was about to turn into a popsicle before I ran into you. I left your uncle a voicemail but, uh, guess you can just tell him to ignore it.’

‘Certainly,’ the other man says, with a nod.

When he turns to go, Gladiolus finds himself suddenly at a loss. It feels… well, _wrong_ to just let him leave like that, after he took time out to help. It’s not even the guy’s job and yet here he is, filling in with his uncle’s tenants in his free time.

‘You wanna coffee or something?’ Gladiolus says.

The man pauses. With his back to Gladiolus, it’s impossible to presume what’s running through his mind; he turns around only to shake his head, everything about him business-like.

‘Thank you, but I’m afraid I can’t,’ he says. ‘Do let me know if you have any more issues.’

Just like that, he turns and goes, pulling the door shut behind him.

Gladiolus stands for a long while after the door has been closed and wonders what, exactly — if anything — he did to offend him.

* * *

For the third time since moving into his apartment, Gladiolus is back at Fascination Street.

It’s not that he’s stalking the guy from the other night — he’d have to catch sight of him for it to count, probably. But as he sits nursing a bottle of Goblin Brew, maybe he can’t help glancing toward the door every time it swings open.

Crowe hadn’t been around the last time; a shorter girl with bouncy blonde curls and a spray of freckles across her face had been there instead, and while she had been bubbly and polite, she hadn’t been quite the same.

Crowe’s back tonight though, and she’s been glancing him over ever since he got in. It’s been too busy for them to catch up, but he knows she’s keeping her eye on him.

‘For the record,’ she says, striding up to his spot at the bar, ‘I called it.’

He looks up from his drink with a raised eyebrow.

‘Huh?’

She points, waving a finger in his general direction.

‘This,’ she says. ‘You. This is your second time here. Two more and I think I gotta bump you up to regular status.’

He busies himself with his drink like she hasn’t got him pegged, but she’s still watching him with a shrewd glance even after he sets the bottle down.

‘Third,’ he states. ‘You were gone last time.’

She pops one hip, tilting her head to the side.

‘I told ya,’ she says. ‘Once you’ve been to the Street, you don’t wanna leave.’

In spite of himself, Gladiolus chuckles and picks his bottle up once more, tipping the brim of it towards her.

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he says. ‘Just hoping to run into somebody is all.’

Her lips curl into a smirk and he knows that, just like that, she has him figured out. Even before she opens her mouth, he knows what she’s going to say.

‘Your _friend_ from the other night?’ she prompts, pointedly.

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

‘Maybe.’

There’s a look on her face, resignation maybe. Like she’s not surprised.

‘Got it bad, huh?’ she says, with something of a look sympathy.

He rolls his eyes skyward and takes a gulp of beer.

‘Hate to break it to you,’ she says, ‘but Iggy doesn’t come here all that often. His appearances are infrequent but _memorable_.’

She says that like she has stories to tell, and with what might just be a pang of insecurity, Gladiolus wonders if this isn’t the first time she’s had to give this speech.

‘Iggy, huh?’ he echoes.

‘Mhmm.’ She nods. ‘Our own Iggy Stardust.’

Randomly, the name of his landlord’s nephew pops into his head — _Ignis_. He could kick himself for forgetting until just now; at least he didn’t get himself into an embarrassing scenario where it was obvious he’d forgotten.

‘So he, uh,’ Gladiolus says, tilting his bottle to see how much is left within. ‘He’s made a name for himself here, huh?’

Crowe’s noncommittal as she shrugs. She has to step away to take somebody else’s order, smiling as she hands them their drink and their change.

‘Listen,’ she says, once she’s back.

She rests her elbows on the bar, leaning forward to speak candidly. She’s not pitying him, exactly, but she seems to take no pleasure in what she’s saying.

‘My advice?’ she continues. ‘Forget about ‘im. Plenty more fish in the sea.’

Gladiolus can’t help but wince.

‘That bad?’ he says.

‘Sorry,’ she says, pushing off from the bar.

He watches her move away to tend to her other patrons.

He knows she’s just letting him down gently, but still — he can’t entirely ignore the sting of it. He wasn’t even looking for a rebound and he wound up with the bar’s resident casanova, and he’s got some chick he hardly knows pitying him over it.

He drains his drink in one gulp, sets the bottle down, and stands. Fishing around for his wallet, he takes out a couple bills and pushes them across the bar as a tip for whenever Crowe swings back his way. He’ll be gone long before then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	4. Chapter 4

When Gladiolus told himself he wasn’t coming back, he meant it with the best of intentions.

It’s not even that he hopes he’ll run into Iggy again — Crowe put paid to any wild ideas to that effect last time he was here. So maybe he’s just swinging by now out of boredom, or out of loneliness, or out of the sheer, honest-to-Gods hope that he’ll see Iggy and get the word straight from the horse’s mouth.

It’s dumb. He _knows_ it’s dumb, even as he slaps money down on the bar for his beer and prepares to settle in for the night. All they did was fool around a little, yet the more time that passes after, the harder Gladiolus finds it to get the guy out of his head.

So maybe Iggy won’t show up, and he’ll put this place behind him once and for all. Better yet — maybe he’ll find somebody else to take his mind off of him.

Gladiolus slouches into his seat at the far end of the bar, away from everybody. It’s quieter than last night, and people give him a wide berth as they step up to the bar to place their orders. Even Crowe isn’t her usual chatty self, barely nodding in greeting when he had first stepped in.

Second beer under his belt, he’s starting to think he might call it quits when the door swings open.

It’s like a bolt of static through the air; somehow, without looking, he feels his skin prickle and he _knows._

Iggy’s there, cutting an impressive silhouette in the doorway in a pale tailored jacket, cinched in at the waist and emphasising his shoulders. His eyes are done up in fierce blue, and it shouldn’t be a good look, yet he pulls it off somehow with his chiseled jaw held high, crossing the bar with endless poise before taking a seat at the bar.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed Gladiolus, and for a fleeting, panicky moment, Gladiolus wonders if he should try to slip out unseen. He’s kidding himself if he thinks this guy will give him the time of day — and anyways, what’s so special about him? Gladiolus never even got his name before he walked away, and here he is all shaken up.

He takes a gulp of beer, his body already angling to the side to get to his feet before he realises what he’s doing. He stands, and for a while he stays rooted to the spot, bottle in hand, while he weighs up his options.

He could go. Just walk right out the door and never look back.

But where would be the fun in that?

Iggy’s at the end of the bar nearest the door, wrapped up in conversation with Crowe; her eyes flick towards Gladiolus as he approaches and for the briefest of instants there’s a look on her face like she’s silently willing him to abort the plan.

He gets as far as Iggy’s shoulder, leaning close, and the scent of him fills his nostrils again. It’s hard to concentrate — hard not to think of being pinned by him against the wall in the alleyway, coming undone beneath his touch.

‘Lemme buy you a drink,’ Gladiolus says, close to his ear.

Crowe sets down a shot of whatever Iggy ordered on top of the bar; Iggy downs it and stands up, his shoulder brushing Gladiolus’s as he goes.

‘Actually,’ Iggy says. ‘I came here to dance.’

Gladiolus almost misses the look he exchanges with Crowe — some shared joke at his expense. It bugs him to think that he looks like the lovesick idiot; bugs him even more that he’s willing to chase so hard.

He watches Iggy head for the jukebox and fill it up with coins, nimble fingers loading up tracks on the machine. Once something comes on, Iggy turns and heads across the floor, walking past right him.

The rejection stings, but then as Gladiolus watches Iggy go, he sees him glance back over his shoulder.

Iggy’s looking at him — daring him. He wears the slightest of smirks as their eyes meet, and Gladiolus feels his heart pick up.

He’s up for a challenge; he revels in them.

The bar is small and awkwardly laid out, like every random nook and cranny of the pre-existing structure has gone to use. There’s a set of steps leading up a half-level, wedged into the corner of the place, and there are lights and mirrors up there, no chairs or tables to clutter the way.

He follows Iggy’s path, taking the steps up, and when he gets to the top he just watches as Iggy dances, swaying to the beat.

The way he moves — even though it’s probably all for show, even though he seems to know he has an audience — it brings Gladiolus’s mind right back to that night in the alleyway, when Iggy’s body had pressed so needily against his own. Gladiolus can’t help it as his eyes take in those hips, as they greedily drink in the sight of the show before him.

Iggy looks at him again, just the slightest glance; in the purple-tinted light up here his lips are a flushed pout, and Gladiolus’s mind wanders not for the first time into filthy territory.

Iggy wants to dance? Fine.

He’s swaying more rhythmically now, his hands smoothing up his body as he moves. Gladiolus crosses the floor and stops close by, matching his movements.

He can’t dance — not well, anyway — but it’s easy enough when he follows Iggy’s lead. He gets a little closer, and Iggy reaches back to take his hand, guiding it until it’s on Iggy’s waist. Gladiolus does the same with his other; lets Iggy step back until his ass meets Gladiolus’s hips.

The music seems to pound out a frantic beat that only drives Gladiolus further into his wild state, moving his body in time to it as Iggy dances against him. He’s all wrapped up in Iggy, in the slight chill of his skin from the air outside, and when Iggy tips his head to the side to expose the curve of his neck, Gladiolus lets his head drop to meet it, lips just skirting his skin.

‘You’re a persistent one,’ Iggy says, voice thick.

‘I’m guessing you like that in a guy,’ Gladiolus retorts.

He feels Iggy’s reach back to grip his thigh; feels fingers dig into his flesh through his jeans, urging him on. Taking Iggy’s cue, Gladiolus leaves a trail of kisses down Iggy’s neck, feeling his smooth skin erupt into goosebumps as he goes.

As if he weren’t already uncomfortably hard, Iggy pushes back into him with a soft moan that seems to wipe all lucid thought from Gladiolus’s head.

‘I want you,’ Gladiolus growls, hardly able to contain himself.

When Iggy twists out of his grasp, he thinks he’s said the wrong thing — but then Iggy’s turning face to face with him, hooking a finger through his belt loop.

‘You don’t _know_ what you want,’ he teases.

Gladiolus opens his mouth to protest, but when the words fail to come Iggy raises an eyebrow knowingly.

He’s right. Gladiolus can’t even argue.

Iggy slips away, turning his back to him once more, and moves to the music as though Gladiolus isn’t even there. It’s probably as good a cue as any for Gladiolus to leave, but he can’t — maybe he doesn’t know what it is that he wants, exactly, but he’s not giving up so easily.

He crosses the floor and takes up his rightful spot behind Iggy, hands finding his waist. He brings his lips to Iggy’s ear, nipping at the lobe.

‘Why don’t you help me figure it out, then?’ he says.

He hears a soft chuckle from Iggy; feels him tip his head back to rest against Gladiolus’s shoulder.

The worst thing — the thing that makes this hardest of all — is he smells so damn _good._ Gladiolus bets he even smells good in the morning.

He nudges Iggy’s face gently to the side, exposing his neck. From there he leaves kiss after kiss, exploring every inch of skin like his life depended on it. He wants to take this guy home, wants to stay up all night with him, wants to cook him breakfast in the morning. He wants to spend hours teasing him, until he find out just where his breaking point is; wants to hold him tight as he screams through the throes of ecstacy.

‘Come back to my place,’ Gladiolus purrs, sliding his hands down to sit on Iggy’s hips.

Iggy tenses a little against him, then turns in his arms until they’re chest to chest.

‘All right.’

* * *

Gladiolus is all jitters when he gets to the door of his apartment. Iggy is right there, leaning against the wall, and he’s stone silent so that Gladiolus can’t get a read on what he’s thinking.

Maybe that’s the point.

When he pulls the door open and gestures within, he sees Iggy give a cursory glance of the place. Gladiolus finds himself suddenly glad that he had the forethought to tidy before he left — not that he’d expected to be bringing anybody back.

Once Iggy’s inside and the door is closed, Gladiolus is at a loss for what, exactly, he’s supposed to do now. Offer him a drink? Show him the bedroom?

What the hell do single people _do,_ anyway?

He opens his mouth, ready to offer to make some coffee, when Iggy steps up and pushes him against the closed door, a fist clutching the material of his tank top.

Gladiolus takes in the pale green of Iggy’s eyes, better able to see them now in the lights of his apartment. They bore into his own, somewhere between need and apprehension, and for a little while they just stand like that, lips almost touching, breathing coming out ragged.

Iggy stretches up, his eyelids fluttering closed as his mouth meets Gladiolus’s; his hand clutches a little tighter, and the other slips up into Gladiolus’s hair, twining through the strands.

The last kiss they shared had been urgent, had sent a jolt of need right through Gladiolus. This one is slower, more tentative, and it feels like maybe something has changed. When Iggy pulls away, he doesn’t drag him along as he had in the alleyway — instead he slips his hand down to seek out Gladiolus’s, giving it a gentle tug.

Wordlessly, Gladiolus nods.

He takes Iggy by the hand, leading him across the apartment; when he gets to the bedroom he nudges the door open with his knee and uses his free hand to slip his jacket from his shoulders. When Iggy lets go, he shrugs it the rest of the way off and tosses it on top of the chair in the corner.

Iggy steps past him and perches on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide to make room for Gladiolus as he pulls him to stand between them. His fingers deftly find Gladiolus’s belt buckle, pulling it loose and moving to his fly. His eyes are intent on his task, his lips parted slightly in concentration.

Gladiolus watches as Iggy opens the fly, then carefully edges Gladiolus’s jeans down his hips, bringing his underwear with them. When they’re low enough, Gladiolus’s cock springs free, hard and ready, the tip already slick in anticipation.

Gladiolus can barely look away as Iggy leans forward and moves his lips over the head of it. When his tongue flutters over it, lapping up the pre-cum beading there, Gladiolus gives a low groan and rests a hand on Iggy’s shoulder to steady himself.

Iggy moves like he’s a pro at this, not bobbing his head like they do in dirty vids but mouthing steadily over Gladiolus’s erection and bringing his hand in, using it to stroke just below the head. His fingers are a little cool to the touch from the night air, but they warm soon enough from contact with Gladiolus’s skin — and it’s not like Gladiolus has much time to worry about that when Iggy’s deft movements prompt a surge of pleasure through him, along with another moan.

It’s difficult to keep upright — to stop himself from bucking about, his legs trembling uselessly. As if sensing this, Iggy moves a hand up to grip his hip, steadying him.

Wet sounds fill the room, lips on slick skin, and Gladiolus hears Iggy give a soft moan around the head of his dick. When he looks down, Iggy’s moved his hand down and grinds the heel of it down into where the protrusion of his arousal shows through the dark of his pants. The sight of it sets the hair standing up on the back of Gladiolus’s neck, and he knows — like he knows the dawn will come — that he needs to touch Iggy.

He moves his hand to cup Iggy’s jaw, taking a step back until his cock slips free. Iggy looks up with questioning eyes, and uses the back of his hand to wipe his lips clean.

Gladiolus is still shaky as he steps around Iggy and heads toward the top of the bed, kicking off his boots as he goes. He slips out of his jeans, but pulls his boxer-briefs up, momentarily confining his erection. It can wait.

Iggy hasn’t moved from his spot at the edge of the mattress, and his shoulders are tense when Gladiolus looks over. It’s like he’s second-guessing things — like maybe he doesn’t want to be here.

‘You still cool with this?’ Gladiolus asks, reaching over to gently touch him on the shoulder.

When Iggy looks up at him his expression is serious, and that’s _never_ a good sign.

‘Gladiolus, I…’ he begins, hands stretching out and curling into fists in his lap. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

Apprehension grips Gladiolus’s tight, clutching at his throat. His mind has already run through about a dozen possible things that Iggy might be about to say by the time it dawns on him to wonder how Iggy knows his name. Crowe, probably. It’s not like it matters.

When Iggy hesitates, Gladiolus lowers himself onto the bed next to him and reaches over to cup his cheek, pulling him into a kiss.

He hadn’t meant to silence Iggy — had meant to reassure him that whatever it is, it won't change anything. As soon as he pulls away, however, there’s something chilly about Iggy’s demeanour, and he won’t quite meet his eye.

‘What is it?’ Gladiolus says. ‘What’d you wanna say?’

Iggy shakes his head.

‘Nothing,’ he breathes. ‘Nothing at all.’

Gladiolus isn’t buying it, but Iggy doesn’t leave him much room to question it as he reaches for the hem of Gladiolus’s tank and slips his hand underneath, pressing his fingertips to Gladiolus’s skin as he leans in to initiate another kiss.

When Gladiolus moves to unfasten his jacket, Iggy lets him pull it off, and sets to work opening the buttons of the shirt he wears underneath.

Little by little, he reveals more of himself as he goes: the sharp line of his collarbone, the smooth expanse of his chest. There’s a scattering of dark, pretty little moles across his skin, and Gladiolus has the uncanny urge to find and kiss each and every one of them.

When he rises to his feet to shrug out of his shirt, Gladiolus untucks the bottom of it for him and helps with the last couple buttons; as the shirt slips from his broad, faintly tanned shoulders, Gladiolus leans close and presses a kiss into his hip.

The shirt falls away to the floor, and Gladiolus smooths his hands around to sit in the small of Iggy’s back. He pulls him closer, leaning his chin against the flat of Iggy’s abdomen, and looks up at him.

There’s something hesitant in Iggy’s glance, Gladiolus thinks. It’s like he’s a different person, somehow — gone is the cocksure demeanour that he had donned so easily at the bar, shed like a second skin.

‘You still sure you want this?’ Gladiolus asks quietly. ‘It’s okay if you changed your mind.’

Iggy strokes a hand through Gladiolus’s hair, knocking a strand free and sending it tumbling into his eyes. He brushes it out of the way then, and tucks it behind Gladiolus’s ear.

‘No,’ Iggy says, his voice hushed. ‘I haven't changed my mind.’

He lets Gladiolus open the fastening of his pants, lets him slide them down his hips. He’s wearing some painfully expensive brand of briefs, worth more than Gladiolus’s whole underwear drawer, but they look good on him — cling to his hips just right, and cup him snugly where it counts.

Gladiolus licks his lips and smooths his hands down the toned plane of Iggy’s thigh.

When he looks up, Iggy’s glancing away, like he’s self-conscious. Gladiolus can’t even imagine _why;_ maybe he’s not buff, but he obviously looks after himself, and it’s all Gladiolus can do not to greedily run his hands over every bit of him.

He settles for gently sliding Iggy’s briefs down, keeping his eyes on Iggy’s face as he goes. It’s only once they’ve fallen past his thighs that Gladiolus lowers his glance to take the sight of him in.

He leans forward, hands resting on Iggy’s legs, and mouths a kiss into the length of him; feels Iggy stir in response, the inevitable rush of blood making him harder with each subsequent kiss. He’s uncut — not something Gladiolus is used to, but definitely not something he minds — so once Iggy’s fully ready he uses his fingers to gently expose the tip of his cock and dips his tongue against it.

A sharp breath sounds out from Iggy’s lips; when Gladiolus glances up, he sees Iggy’s eyes are closed, his teeth sinking softly into his bottom lip.

Iggy is so quiet now; so restrained. Gladiolus can’t help but wonder what it’ll take to make him lose control.

He starts gentle, looking up to check in from time to time. He focuses on the tip awhile and laves his tongue over it until he feels the salty tang of pre-cum trickle into his mouth, and then he smooths his fist down the shaft and moves it in long, lazy strokes.

He sees Iggy clench his jaw, the muscles rippling in his cheek as he fights to maintain composure. Gladiolus wants to tell him to let go, but he does it without words instead, his free hand wandering around to cup Iggy’s ass, digging bluntly into it.

Gladiolus can already imagine what it’d be like to turn him over on the bed, to grip him by the hips and thrust against him, to grab a fistful of his perfect hair and tug his head back, leaving savage bites all along the smooth length of his neck.

Under his touch, he starts to feel Iggy relax — feels him sink back against the hand cupping his ass, hips moving in time with Gladiolus’s strokes. He gives a soft, dignified moan that simultaneously sends a flood of pre-cum onto Gladiolus’s tongue, and makes Gladiolus’s cock throb with need.

This… This is what Gladiolus wants. No artifice, no restraint, just Iggy giving in and letting the pleasure take over.

Iggy’s rocking into his touch now, starting to get hasty; seeing this, Gladiolus slips his hand under the sculpted form of Iggy’s ass and in between his legs, teasing around his entrance with the tip of his finger.

The effect is electric; the next sound Iggy makes is an unstifled groan, and he shoves his hips forward unexpectedly. Next thing Gladiolus knows, Iggy’s knotting a hand through his hair, using it to guide him along in his strokes.

It’s like they’ve broken through a wall, and Iggy’s on the home stretch. Gladiolus hears his breathing now, heavy and laboured, and when he looks up, Iggy’s pretty mouth is hanging open, his eyes screwed shut.

The breaths pick up a staccato rhythm, reaching a crescendo, and Gladiolus feels Iggy tense suddenly under his touch before salt fills his mouth.

So maybe Gladiolus could have done with a warning, but he’s not about to complain — he’s more than happy to swallow it down, watching with rapt attention as Iggy’s face takes on an expression of pure ecstasy. The sounds of his unbridled gasps and moans are music to Gladiolus’s ears.

Once Iggy finally stills, once the sounds of pleasure have died down, Gladiolus slips him from his mouth and licks his lips, wiping stray droplets from his chin with his hand.

In front of him, Iggy takes a step back and stoops, yanking his briefs up and his pants soon after. With a cold rush, Gladiolus realises he’s leaving.

He watches mutely as Iggy fastens his pants, then hunts around for his shirt. Iggy seems like he’s in such a hurry to get away that he can barely get the buttons of his shirt done up straight. It’s hard for Gladiolus not to think he did something wrong, but then he wonders if maybe this was all Iggy wanted — to get off and go.

Gladiolus doesn’t even bother to dress himself; something about the thought of rushing to dress in his own home, after a dalliance with a stranger, makes him feel cheap. He’s still sitting in the same spot when he hears the front door open and gently shut, signalling Iggy’s departure once and for all.

‘Shit,’ he mutters.

This wasn’t quite what he had planned.

It’s probably ten, fifteen minutes before he stands, finally, and gathers up his things, tugging his pants on. He’s kicking one of the legs out to slip his foot through it when he spots a flash of pale blue poking out from just under the bed. Once his jeans are zipped, he stoops and picks it up.

It’s Iggy’s jacket — the careful, tailored cut of it belied somewhat by the haphazard way it had been thrown to the floor. It’s a little heavier than Gladiolus expects, and when he weighs it in his grasp he realises there’s something in it.

Compulsion makes him check, and he finds a wallet tucked into the inner pocket. It’s nice, as he’d expect from Iggy — leather, with some intricate pattern embossed into it. He tells himself that he’s only looking for contact information to return it even as he flips it open and inspects the driver’s license slotted into the window inside.

‘ _Shit._ ’

A young man stares back at him from the photo, dark blonde hair swept neatly across his forehead. A pair of glasses hides the eyes that the license proclaims to be green. His birthday is just a few months before his own.

The name, above all of that, printed in glaring black ink:

_SCIENTIA, IGNIS._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell with me on social media! [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	5. Chapter 5

‘Where’s your corkscrew?’

Gladiolus stares at Prompto like he’s speaking a foreign language. Blinking, he gestures absently toward the kitchenette.

‘Second drawer from the top,’ he says flatly. ‘Left side.’

He’s been trying to be fully present since this _is_ his housewarming, but his thoughts keep running back to Iggy. Ignis — whatever. He still has the guy’s wallet sitting on top of his nightstand, and Gladiolus has the distinct feeling Ignis isn’t coming back for it any time soon if he can help it.

‘So how you settling in?’ Noct asks. ‘This place everything you thought it’d be?’

Gladiolus sighs and stares down at his hands. The apartment’s great — it’s the baggage he seems to have accumulated since moving in that he’s not so sure of.

‘It’s not so bad,’ he says, blasé. ‘Area’s nice. Kinda place you can walk around alone at night.’

Prompto steps up behind him and slugs him gently in the shoulder.

‘Not that _you_ ever have to worry about that,’ he teases.

Once Prompto takes his seat, he grabs the bottle of champagne, wedges it between his thighs and cracks the foil at the top before digging the screw into the cork. Gladiolus can’t help but watch him warily; Prompto is notoriously clumsy, and the last thing Gladiolus needs is for him to break a window.

When Prompto gets it open without incident, Gladiolus breathes out a sigh of relief.

Noct helps him pour out the champagne; they’re using wine glasses, not that they notice the difference.

‘To new beginnings,’ Prompto says. ‘Or… something.’

Noct snorts.

‘Poetic as always.’

They each clink their glasses together, and Gladiolus drains half of his in one go. It’s not bad — Noct’s dad has connections in the industry, so of _course_ he knows his shit — but right now Gladiolus would take something with a high alcohol content over it quite happily. He figures it’d be a bad idea to get wasted at his own housewarming, though.

‘Iris been by yet?’ Noct asks, sprawling back on the couch.

Gladiolus shakes his head. His sister hasn’t even been in touch, but then he can’t say he blames her — she’s juggling college and an internship, on top of running a fitness blog. The kid never stops.

‘We should all get together sometime,’ Prompto suggests brightly. He always got along well with her. ‘I haven’t seen her in, like, a year.’

Gladiolus casts a glance toward his tablet. He knows he could email her and she’d make the effort to clear a space in her schedule, but there’s still the fear that she might refuse. They stayed close even after everything between him and his father, but there are times when she seems distant — like she’s growing up so fast, and he’s not even there to see it.

There’s a knock at the door; Prompto jumps up excitedly from his seat.

‘Pizza’s here!’ he yelps, barging across the room to get to it.

‘She still seeing that guy?’ Noct asks.

Gladiolus looks at his friend darkly.

‘No,’ he mutters. ‘Thank the gods. If she didn’t dump ‘im, I was gonna do it for her.’

Noct grimaces and takes a sip of champagne like he’s washing a bad taste out of his mouth.

‘Remember when he went off on one about how photography isn’t a _real_ job?’ he says. ‘And Prompto was standing like… right there, with a camera around his neck.’

‘Iris looked like she was gonna knock his lights out,’ Gladiolus says, with a wry little sentimental smirk. ‘That’s my girl.’

He leans over to grab the bottle of champagne, ready to top off his drink, when Prompto gently nudges the door part-way closed and frantically gestures him over. With a sigh, Gladiolus drains his glass and sets it aside.

‘What do you wanna bet he needs help figuring out the tip,’ he says, rolling his eyes.

When he gets to the door however, and Prompto pulls it wide for him to see, it’s not the pizza delivery waiting there — it’s Ignis.

‘I got this,’ Gladiolus says, nudging Prompto’s shoulder lightly.

With a nod, his friend turns and heads back into the room, flopping onto the sofa beside Noct.

For a minute, Gladiolus just stands in the doorway, hip leaning against the wood, while he looks expectantly at Ignis. The other man seems so uncomfortable in his own skin, like he’s waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

His hair is down flat, brushed slightly to the side, and his collar is buttoned uncomfortably high, but even now Gladiolus can see what he failed to spot the first few times they met: the green of Ignis’s eyes; the scattering of dark freckles running down his long, slender neck; the angular jaw. All the same as Iggy.

He still doesn’t know how it took him so long to realise.

‘I… lost my jacket,’ Ignis says quietly. ‘I believe I may have left it here.’

Gladiolus nods.

‘I’ll go get it.’

The others look at him curiously as he passes; Prompto gives a theatrical stage whisper of _‘He’s cute!’_ and Gladiolus hopes and prays that his voice hadn’t been loud enough to carry.

He gives himself a minute when he’s in the bedroom, weighing Ignis’s wallet in his grasp, tucking it into the folds of the jacket Ignis left behind. He knows that once he hands it over, Ignis will go, and they’ll probably never see each other again. He might be related to Gladiolus’s landlord, but when a person has a good enough reason to avoid somebody else, they make it work.

He can picture Ignis — _Iggy_ — sitting at the edge of the bed, skin tinged delicately pink with heat. Can remember the taste of Iggy on his lips, on his tongue.

Gladiolus shakes his head to dislodge the image from it; already he’s uncomfortably warm, like there’s an itch under the surface of his flesh. He wears it all the way back out of his bedroom and through the apartment, avoiding his friends’ eyes as he goes.

He doesn’t hand Ignis the bundle right away, instead pulling the door shut behind him as he steps out into the hall.

‘Here,’ he says, offering the jacket up.

When Ignis takes it, he slips it over the crook of his arm and moves to go, but Gladiolus takes a step in front of him, putting his hands up. He hadn’t meant to touch Ignis — had only meant to halt him so that they could talk — but Ignis bumps into him as he goes, and all at once the landing seems too small, too warm.

Ignis looks up to meet Gladiolus’s eyes with his own; there’s heat already welling on his cheeks.

‘Can we talk?’ Gladiolus says. ‘About—’

‘I have to go,’ Ignis says sharply, cutting across him. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to keep your friends waiting.’

As if he’s just been slapped in the face, Gladiolus steps back, removing himself from the other man’s space. He doesn’t want to end things like that, but he’s powerless to do anything as Ignis slips past him and sets off down the stairs.

Three steps down, Ignis stops. His hand is on the railing, the leather of his gloves wrinkling slightly with the effort of holding on. His head is dipped slightly, his face turned away, so Gladiolus can only see the curve of his jaw — can picture himself leaving kisses along it and down the length of his neck, sucking bruises into the pale protrusion of his collarbone.

‘I trust you’ll not say anything,’ Ignis says curtly, turning to look at him. ‘About our… dalliances.’

He says it like they’ve had underhand dealings in something illicit — like they could get in trouble for it. Gladiolus wonders if he means so little that Ignis can brush it off like that; that he could lie about who he was this whole time.

‘Ain’t gonna mouth off to your uncle,’ Gladiolus says, folding his arms across his chest. ‘If that’s what you mean.’

With a sniff, Ignis nods and turns to go once more.

‘Iggy—’

When Ignis flinches, Gladiolus catches himself. Keeping that little nickname to himself is probably part of the whole _not saying anything_ deal, he guesses.

‘Ignis,’ he tries. ‘Why don’t you stay awhile? We got champagne, we ordered in. You can meet my buddies.’

It’s like Ignis has frozen; Gladiolus can’t tell if he’s weighing up his options, or if he’s just figuring out how to let him down gently. When Ignis turns, his face drawn, Gladiolus figures there’s a good chance it’s the latter.

‘Tomorrow night,’ he says quietly. ‘At nine.’

He’s already turning to go before Gladiolus has a chance to process — Gladiolus drops down the first few steps after him, putting a hand out to gently catch his arm.

‘Wait,’ he says. ‘At — at the bar? That what you mean?’

Gently, Ignis brushes his arm off and meets his eye with a stern nod.

‘If you don’t show, I’ll know you’re not interested,’ he says.

With that, he slips away and heads back down the stairs; this time, Gladiolus doesn’t stop him.

Gladiolus can still feel that itch from being so close to Ignis when he gets back into his apartment. His mind keeps flashing back to images of Ignis’s face contorted in pleasure even as he drops into his seat and picks up his glass, lifting it to his mouth before he realises it’s empty.

‘Who was _that?_ ’ Prompto says with a raised eyebrow.

‘Prom,’ Noct mutters, elbowing him sharply in the side.

‘Ow!’ Prompto protests, pouting as he rubs at his ribs. ‘What? Are we just not gonna comment on the cute, probably single guy that showed up on Gladio’s doorstep? Is that a thing we’re doing now?’

‘Zip it,’ Gladiolus says, barely keeping the growl out of his voice.

It’s enough to silence his friend, and Gladiolus regrets it almost immediately — especially when he sees the hurt look on Prompto’s face, like a sad little puppy.

‘Sorry,’ he mutters, scrubbing at his face. ‘He’s nobody. Forget ‘im.’

He knows, without looking, that Prompto and Noct are exchanging glances; that they’re conducting one of their weird little psychic conversations that they’re so good at. He wonders what assumptions they’re making — that he and Ignis are seeing each other, that they _used to_ see each other. Definitely that they _shouldn’t_ be seeing each other, which is about as close to the truth as it’s ever going to get.

The buzzer sounds out — there’s no doubt in Gladiolus’s mind that it’s the pizza this time — and he pushes himself up from his seat, grabbing the handful of cash from the table as he goes.

‘Be right down,’ he says into the intercom, tugging the door open and pulling it tight behind him.

He jogs down the stairs taking them two at a time, and he’s about halfway down when he starts to seriously doubt his decision to save the delivery person the trouble. It’s not so bad going down, but his thighs will definitely complain on the way back up.

When he gets to the bottom, he pulls open the door, and as he lifts his eyes and takes in the pristine leather shoes, the tailored pants, the pressed shirt, he realises it’s probably not the delivery guy after all.

Ignis’s gloves are off; he steps through the door and nudges Gladiolus against the wall, one hand cupping his jaw while the other grips needily at his shirt. Their lips meet in a rush of kisses, so dizzying and fast Gladiolus can barely think straight.

He cards his hand through Ignis’s hair and uses his grip to tilt Ignis’s head to the side, and he seeks a spot on his throat just above the starched collar of Ignis’s shirt to lean in and leave a trail of bites, each more urgent than the last.

When Ignis finally pulls away all but stumbling, his hair and clothes ruffled, Gladiolus feels drunk. He wants to drag Ignis all the way upstairs, wants to kick the guys out — could probably justify it to himself if they never even made it up the stairs and just went at it right here in the hall. Instead he licks his lips and steps forward, pulling Ignis into a decidedly more dignified kiss, straightening his collar as he goes.

‘Tomorrow,’ Ignis says, breathlessly. He steps back, moving for the door on unsteady feet.

Gladiolus nods. Tries to keep cool, but it’s hard when his pulse is pounding in his ears.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell with me on social media! [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got LONG. I got to about 2.5k and realised _Oh shit, I can't slap this together._
> 
> So yeah. You get almost 6k of Gladiolus and Iggy tentatively making their way through their first time together, figuring things out along the way.

Gods help him, but Gladiolus is actually sweating as he strides down the street toward the bar. It’s a little humid tonight so he neglected the jacket in favour of a tank top, but he knows he can’t blame the heat for the perspiration currently prickling at his underarms. No, it’s a cold sweat that beads there, and in the small of his back; jitters that make him hurry a little too quickly on his feet even though he’s still early.

He can see the sign for Fascination Street up ahead — the mere sight of it makes his pulse quicken. He hasn’t even seen Iggy yet and he’s anticipating that first moment their eyes meet across the floor.

Last night had been… tough, to say the least. After Noct and Prompto had left, he’d taken a cold shower and, when that hadn’t helped, a steamy one. It still hadn’t been enough to get Iggy out of his head.

He waves at Crowe as he strolls up to the bar and she’s already rolling her eyes as their glances meet.

‘You just don’t know when to back down, do you?’ she says.

He doesn’t need to place an order; she grabs a bottle of the usual stuff from under the bar and sets it down with a thunk on a coaster advertising some fancy pear cider he doubts anybody in this place would drink. He’s smirking as he straddles the bar stool closest to her.

‘Who says I’m not here for your beautiful smile?’ he retorts.

She gives him a long-suffering look. If the bar weren’t between them, he’d expect her to smack him upside the head. She doesn’t, though, and instead of dignifying his words with a response, she turns away to attend another patron.

‘Wait,’ he says.

He slips his wallet from his pocket, but she stops him with a shake of her head.

‘Already bought and paid for,’ she says.

Gladiolus feels the hairs prickle at the nape of his neck. His mouth goes dry, and even as he lifts his beer to his mouth to wet his tongue, he knows it’s pointless.

He doesn’t spot Iggy along the bar, at any of the tables. Doesn’t see him by the jukebox, or at the door. His heart drops a little with disappointment, but then he spots him: by the stairs up to the dance floor, one hand resting on the rail.

He looks so serious as he stands there — that same look had been in his eyes, that night in Gladiolus’s apartment — but then his lips curve into an elusive smirk and he turns, heading back up the stairs to the dance floor above.

Gladiolus drains half his beer in one go, wipes the moisture from his mouth with the back of his hand, and slips from his seat.

His heart’s gushing in his ears as he goes.

Iggy’s swaying when he gets to the top of the stairs. There’s something playing — barely more than background noise to Gladiolus. He suspects that Iggy could dance to pretty much anything, and still look good doing it.

It takes three strides to get to Iggy’s side; with each step it feels like his skin is burning, like he’s trembling, like if he doesn’t take Iggy into his arms, he’s going to lose it.

Iggy falters when Gladiolus is near enough to touch. Iggy turns face to face, his hand clutching at the front of Gladiolus’s tank top, and there’s desire in his eyes as he uses it to pull Gladiolus closer.

‘I’m glad you came,’ Iggy says, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the music.

Gladiolus opens his mouth to reply, but he swallows his words as Iggy stretches up and kisses him.

There’s no gimmick to Iggy today — there’s the heavy makeup rimming his eyes, sure, but his clothes are dark and understated. Gladiolus can’t help the giddy feeling that comes over him as he looks at Iggy’s shirt, unbuttoned to the sternum, and wonders if he picked out his clothes tonight just for Gladiolus to take them off.

‘We should go back to my place,’ Gladiolus says, slipping his hands down to Iggy’s waist. ‘So I can get you all to myself.’

Iggy chuckles. Flicks a glance toward the stairs, as though he’s considering it.

‘What about your drink?’ he asks.

Gladiolus shrugs.

‘I got liquor,’ he says. ‘You drink scotch?’

* * *

It seems amazing to Gladiolus that he can be just as nervous as the last time as he leads Iggy, by the hand, up the spiralling stairs to his apartment.

When he gets in, he tosses his keys on the shelf by the door and gestures to the sofa.

‘Make yourself at home,’ he says. With a wry grin, he adds: ‘You know where everything is.’

It strikes him, as he’s pouring their drinks, just how strange it is to know that Iggy and Ignis are one and the same. He might not have even believed it after the driver’s license — even with Ignis’s picture and name emblazoned there, laminated and immutable — if Ignis himself hadn’t shown up on his doorstep to retrieve his lost belongings.

He had been too confused by all of it to consider what it really meant, and how he felt about it; little by little, he supposes it makes sense. He’s moonlighted security for enough shady venues to know that it’s usually the quiet, proper ones who have all manner of dirty little secrets.

It’s not even that Iggy seems _dirty,_ though; it’s like he’s a different person entirely.

He thinks, as he turns from the kitchenette with drinks in hand, that the man he sees stretched across the corner of his sofa is an amalgamation of the two: neither timid, easily-flustered Ignis, nor cocky, self-assured Iggy. He’s still not sure which one is the real him.

He hands Iggy his drink and perches himself at the edge of the couch beside him, resting his arm along the back of it.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he says.

Iggy seems to tense, visibly; he brings the glass to his lips and sips tentatively from it at first, then apparently gives in halfway and makes it a gulp. As Gladiolus watches, the amber liquid dwindles in the bottom of the glass until there’s nothing left but ice.

‘That’s not what I’m here for,’ Iggy says, leaning forward to set his drink aside on the coffee table.

Gladiolus is about to question it when Iggy turns and plants a hand flat on his chest, pushing him against the back of the sofa. He barely manages to keep his drink from spilling as Iggy climbs astride him, straddling his hips.

Iggy’s fingers go to Gladiolus’s jaw, tilting his head back. Iggy’s mouth tastes of liquor as he closes it over Gladiolus’s, tongue eagerly darting between his lips.

For a minute, Gladiolus rolls with it; returns the kiss with equal fervour, resting his free hand on Iggy’s thigh where he kneads at him through his pants. Even as Iggy seems intent on taking it further, slipping one of his hands down to tug at Gladiolus’s belt buckle, he knows it would be so easy to just let this happen — and there wouldn’t even be any _letting_ about it, when he’s very much willing and eager.

Reluctantly, however, he breaks away from the kiss. It almost hurts to see the surprise and disappointment in Iggy’s eyes.

‘Not that I ain’t havin’ fun,’ Gladiolus says, ‘cause trust me — I _am._ But I don’t want—’

‘Of course,’ Iggy says briskly.

He’s cold, just like that. Brisk and withdrawn. And Gladiolus can feel him slipping through his fingertips as he climbs off and stands, adjusting his clothes as he goes — can see Iggy’s eyes already darting for the door like he’s going to make a quick exit.

‘What I mean is,’ Gladiolus says. He catches Iggy’s hand with his own, tugging at it until Iggy finally meets his eye. ‘I didn’t ask you here just to fuck. I ain’t like that.’

Iggy’s bristling; he snatches his hand away, propping it on his waist.

‘That’s not how it seemed the other night,’ he says, scoffing.

Gladiolus sighs and scrapes his hand down his face. He’ll give Iggy that one, at least.

He takes a swig of his drink and sets it aside, next to Iggy’s empty glass. Once his hands are free, he touches his hand to Iggy’s hip and wets his lips.

‘I got a little carried away,’ he says, ‘I’ll admit that. But you — you didn’t seem like you had much interest in talkin’, either. And then you just bolted, like you couldn’t stand to be around me any more an’—’

Iggy cuts him off with a sigh. Gladiolus watches him take one of his hands and card long, slender fingers through his hair, like he doesn’t care whether he messes it up or not. Next thing he knows, Iggy’s perching himself on the edge of the couch, his body angled a little away.

‘It isn’t like that,’ he says. ‘I assure you. It’s… complicated.’

Gladiolus shrugs. From where he’s sitting, he’s got all the time in the world.

‘So explain it,’ he replies. ‘Try me.’

It’s never that easy, of course. He isn’t even surprised when Iggy shakes his head and glances away.

Okay. So maybe Iggy isn’t the talking type.

‘Can’t we just enjoy ourselves?’ Iggy asks, turning to look at Gladiolus. ‘Just… forget about everything for a little while?’

It’s not that the thought of taking a few hours out from the world to be together — to lose themselves in each other — isn’t appealing. Another night, Gladiolus would have been more than happy to drag Iggy into his bed, no questions asked. He still can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than Iggy’s saying, however, and it’s enough to make a knot of doubt find its way into his gut.

‘All right,’ he says, with a resigned shrug. ‘You want another drink at least?’

He brings his own drink with him as he goes, draining it. It burns a little on the way down, and he wonders at how the straight-laced guy on his sofa could throw it all back without so much as grimacing.

He pours them each a fresh drink, replacing the ice with fresh cubes from the freezer, and returns to the couch.

Iggy seems more at ease this time, when he gets back. Like he’s had time to recompose himself. It stings a little — all Gladiolus wants is to get to know him better, and he just keeps on throwing up those walls. At least Iggy’s a little more restrained this time as he takes a sip from his glass, savouring the taste of it.

He licks his lips, meeting Gladiolus’s eye as he comes to sit beside him.

That spark passes between their glances again. Whatever Gladiolus’s misgivings about just taking this casual fling for what it is, he can’t deny that there’s so much chemistry between them. It’s like there’s an inexorable pull, drawing them together; he couldn’t break it, even if he wanted to.

He never knew, on that first night at Fascination Street, what he was getting himself into.

Iggy moves first, angling himself toward Gladiolus; he cradles his drink in his lap and rests his other hand on Gladiolus’s knee, sliding it slowly up his thigh.

Gladiolus feels the ridiculous urge to fill the silence with small-talk. It’s been so long since he had to do this — to negotiate his way around a stranger, finding his footing. With Pelna, sex had been as much about bonding as about getting off. Half the time they’d been too busy laughing over something one or the other of them had said to continue.

Thoughts of Pel, of how things used to be, linger like a bad taste. The memories they made together are like a knife in his chest; the more he tries to put it out of his head, the more it seems to twist.

Iggy’s close, his hand in Gladiolus’s lap, and he could move it just a little to the left to the bulge of Gladiolus’s jeans. Instead, his brow furrows — like he’s seen something in Gladiolus’s eyes. After a pause, he takes Gladiolus’s drink from his grasp, sets it along with his own on the coffee table, and uses his free hands to cup Gladiolus’s jaw, pulling him into a kiss.

It’s not what Gladiolus was expecting. Fireworks and passion, maybe, but not a tentative kiss that feels as thoughtful as it is gentle. It warms him, though; tugs at the knife in his chest and pulls it free, and as though Iggy’s own hands are tending the wound, Gladiolus feels the pain start to ebb until it’s hardly there.

Gladiolus delves a hand into the hair at Iggy’s nape, resting the other at Iggy’s ribs. As he relaxes into the kiss, slowly but surely, he feels Iggy ease up in turn.

It had started out halting and unsure; little by little it spirals, until the warmth is a fire, consuming them.

Gladiolus’s hand finds Iggy’s shirt buttons, tugging at them, fumbling and almost failing in his haste. He feels Iggy’s breath huff out against his lips as he pulls back just enough to help, and between the two of them they get it open.

The creamy white of Iggy’s skin strikes Gladiolus again, as more of it is revealed; there’s a faint flush to it from the contact, maybe from the liquor, and Gladiolus touches his fingertips to the delicate pink of it, tracing his touch downward. He moves over the protrusion of Iggy’s nipple, feeling it harden under his touch; when he pinches at it slightly, it draws a soft gasp from Iggy’s lips.

Iggy slips the shirt off his shoulders and it falls away, pooling around him on the couch. It’s Gladiolus’s turn next; Iggy grips at the hem of his tank top and tugs, and it isn’t long before it too lies discarded.

There are no misgivings this time as Iggy climbs astride him once more; no niggling doubt as he pushes Gladiolus back with commanding hands and leans in to initiate another kiss.

Gladiolus can feel the strain against his jeans; writhes a little to relieve the pressure, and feels Iggy grind downwards in turn. The contact is irresistible — makes Gladiolus groan into the kiss, and that only seems to spur Iggy on.

They break away, gasping, and even though they’ve already shedded a layer, Gladiolus’s skin is burning. Even as he thinks that maybe he needs a minute to compose himself, Gladiolus slips his arms around Iggy to pull him down for more, _more._

It feels like Gladiolus can’t quite get enough of him, like his roving, greedy hands can’t quite take in enough of Iggy’s skin. He’s reeling, his head spinning as he paws at Iggy’s hips, at his thighs.

Iggy pulls away from their kiss with a wet sound, and he’s smirking as he looks down at Gladiolus with eyes afire. He’s climbing off then, and Gladiolus feels a pang of disappointment until he sees Iggy go for his glass.

Iggy drains it in a few gulps, tossing his head back as he does so; Gladiolus can’t help but watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, can’t help but stare at the long expanse of his neck. Once the last of the liquid is gone, Iggy fishes one of the ice cubes from the bottom and holds it with utmost care as he returns to the sofa, kneeling at Gladiolus’s side.

Gladiolus’s stomach jolts with excitement as he realises what Iggy’s doing. He chuckles, but the sound cuts off into a moan as Iggy touches the ice to Gladiolus’s chest. He moves it slowly, skirting it over Gladiolus’s skin; traces it over his nipple, and while Gladiolus is lost in the dizzy, heady sensation, Iggy leans down and closes his mouth over his flesh, tongue flitting against his nipple.

‘Geez, Iggy,’ Gladiolus groans, barely able to stop himself.

He hears a soft laugh from Iggy, then feels the graze of Iggy’s teeth. The contact has Gladiolus dropping his head back against the couch, moaning out soft and low.

Iggy doesn’t keep at it for long. He’s there with the ice again, moving it in lazy circles down Gladiolus’s torso, from time to time leaning in to lick up the trails of moisture. The heat melts the ice before long, and by the time Iggy gets to the trail of hair leading down Gladiolus’s belly, it’s gone.

With a mischievous glance up at Gladiolus, Iggy tugs at his belt and pulls it open, popping his fly next. With a little bit of maneuvering, Gladiolus shifts so that he can pull his jeans down just enough to get his cock free from the flap of his boxers.

Iggy virtually purrs as he takes in the sight of him. He leans down, lithe and graceful, closing his mouth over the head of Gladiolus’s erection, and he makes a soft noise of appreciation against it, the sound vibrating down through Gladiolus’s shaft.

This seems more intimate, somehow, than the last time — like Iggy’s more _real_ with his clothes half stripped-off and the liquor loosening him up. He bobs just as expertly as before, his mouth moving wetly up and down Gladiolus’s cock, but it seems to Gladiolus that he’s more at ease.

Pleasure thrums through Gladiolus, from between his legs and emanating out through the rest of his body, making his extremities tingle. As Iggy suckles appreciately over him with a wet sound, another throb of pleasure makes Gladiolus groan involuntarily.

He rests one hand flat on Iggy’s back, over the curve of his spine, and threads the other through Iggy’s hair. He’d marvel at how soft and silky the strands are, at the particular way they catch the light, if he weren’t so busy shuddering.

Iggy sits up, unexpectedly; gets real close to Gladiolus, and with a devilish little smile, skirts his tongue against Gladiolus’s lips. There’s pre-cum on him, salty and slick, and there’s that perverse little thrill over the taste of it that makes Gladiolus knot his fingers a little tighter through Iggy’s hair, urging him on.

Iggy’s pulling away, though, and as he lithely stands, Gladiolus can only watch with his heart hammering in his throat, his brain taking a backseat to desire.

‘Shall we?’ Iggy says, extending a hand to him.

Swallowing, Gladiolus nods and takes it, letting Iggy pull him up.

Iggy leads him, all but strutting across the floor, toward the bedroom; Gladiolus catches himself watching the sway of Iggy’s hips, the way the tailored fit of his pants clings to his ass just right. He tracks his glance upwards to the curve of Iggy’s spine, up over his shoulders where a faint dappling of dark freckles are the only blemishes to be seen.

The bedroom’s tidy, fastidiously prepared before Gladiolus left the house. When he flips on the lamp beside the bed it casts a moody glow over the dark sheets he picked out, the soft sateen shimmering in the light. It’s uncomfortably warm in here, but maybe it’s just him; as an afterthought he cracks the double doors onto the balcony and returns to the side of the bed.

Iggy turns to him, pulling him close almost possessively. He grinds the heel of his hand against Gladiolus’s erection while his other hand grips at the waistband of Gladiolus’s jeans, tugging.

Gladiolus doesn’t need any encouragement. He pulls, reluctantly, away from Iggy just far enough to stoop and unzip his boots. Once he’s kicked them off, he sheds the last of his clothes, trembling as he goes.

Iggy’s already down to his briefs, his clothes having been discarded haphazardly around him. Once Gladiolus is upright again, Iggy touches a hand to his chest and pushes him toward the bed, nudging him once his legs hit the mattress.

Gladiolus clambers onto the bed, scooching back until he’s lying in the middle of it. He wets his lips and watches as Iggy finally rids himself of the last of his clothing, slipping his briefs gracefully down his hips.

For a moment, with the both of them stripped down, Gladiolus can’t help but feel vulnerable. Before Pelna, there hadn’t really been any other guys — not the way it had been with Pel, anyways. There had been a time not all that long ago when he had been sure Pel was it; when he had looked into the future and only been able to picture spending it together.

He tries to push all of that out of his head, all of the uncertainty, but still he feels a little self-conscious as Iggy climbs onto the bed and crawls over, sitting astride his leg. They’ve fooled around a couple times before, yes, but what if Gladiolus is _bad_ at this? What if Iggy doesn’t like his body?

He hopes he doesn’t let any of his thoughts bleed through to his body language; focuses on Iggy’s face, on his pout, on his eyes, as he leans close and hovers above.

Wordlessly, Gladiolus lifts his hand and cups Iggy’s jaw, feeling the smooth warmth of him beneath his touch. His face is flushed now to go with the rest of him, a pretty pink colouring his skin. When Gladiolus runs his thumb across Iggy’s bottom lip, Iggy’s cheeks only seem to darken.

He wants to say how beautiful Iggy is — like this, or any other way. For all the more carnal thoughts that he’s been a slave to in Iggy’s company, there’s something arresting about him, too. It’s not the peacock show he puts on, his makeup bold and intimidating; it’s the moments of quietude, the rare little bits of the real-him that slip through the cracks.

The words are almost on his lips when Iggy moves in, kissing him; it’s gentle, but as before it doesn’t stay that way for long.

Iggy’s grip is sure has he takes Gladiolus into his hand, his kisses needy and hungry. His thumb runs smooth and steady over the head of him, the pad of it slick with pre-cum, and as he pumps at it Gladiolus feels the desire welling up to a fever pitch.

Iggy moves to his ear, voice husky as his lips brush his ear lobe.

‘Condoms,’ he says. ‘Where do you keep them?’

Gladiolus is drunk with lust as he leans away, hand scrabbling at the top drawer of the night stand. They’re in there, all right, but it’s a near carbon-copy for his night stand at his old place: condoms, lube, spare keys, notebooks, ticket stubs. He has to fish around in all the clutter until his fingers hit the foil, but then the lube seems to evade him.

With supplies finally in hand, he nudges the drawer shut. Wets his lips, then looks at Iggy. He’s not so sure what has to happen next — if they need to talk over who’s doing what, if they need to negotiate. For a moment he struggles as he’s not even sure _what_ he wants, but then Iggy takes taps the bottle of lube with a forefinger, seemingly having made the call for him.

‘Will you get me ready?’ Iggy asks, a little timidly.

Silently, Gladiolus nods.

He lays the condom down on the bed and twists off the cap of the lube, squeezing a few pumps out onto his fingertips. Iggy moves while he does so, sidling up closer and holding onto the head of the bed frame. He spreads his legs apart until he’s astride Gladiolus’s hips and licks his lips, his fingers trailing down Gladiolus’s chest while he waits.

Hesitant, Gladiolus slips his hand between Iggy’s legs. He sets the lube aside and uses his other hand to stroke Iggy’s length, each pump of his fist slow and intentional, drawn out so that he can savour the look on Iggy’s face. And it’s good — _real_ good — to watch his eyes flutter closed, his lips parting in pleasure.

Deftly, Gladiolus brushes his fingers against Iggy’s entrance; feels him jolt back slightly into his touch, as if by way of encouragement.

It feels like Gladiolus is new to this, too, even though he must have done it a thousand times before. Questions race through his head: does Iggy need much help? Does he like to take his time? Should Gladiolus be gentle, or firm?

He keeps up the movement of his hand over Iggy’s erection and dips his finger into him, then guides in another. For a moment, when he feels Iggy tense, he worries that it’s too much — but then Iggy’s licking his lips, nodding hurriedly to urge him on.

Where Gladiolus moves his fingers, Iggy rocks back against them, and it seems he’s doing well enough. When he lowers his gaze from Iggy’s face long enough to look down, he sees a bead of pre-cum welling on the head of Iggy’s cock. He makes a slow, meaningful stroke, squeezing as he gets to the top, and watches the liquid drip from the tip of him, pooling on Gladiolus’s abdomen.

Iggy gives a soft, halting moan as Gladiolus’s fingers slip into him, and the whole thing has Gladiolus’s cock twitching with a very immediate sense of need.

‘I’m… I’m ready,’ Iggy says, breathless.

Gently, Gladiolus slips his fingers free and lets go of Iggy’s length. They trade places; Iggy rolls, catlike, onto his back and grips the headboard behind him, letting his legs fall apart. When Gladiolus climbs in between his legs and picks up the condom, Iggy takes it out of his grasp with a teasing smile.

With impossibly straight teeth, he tears at the foil of the condom; when he gets it open he slips it out and uses one hand to stroke Gladiolus’s cock, the other positioning the opening of the sheath over him.

Gladiolus breathes out as the condom goes on and Iggy glides his hand down ahead of it. He seems almost loving as he smooths it down over Gladiolus’s length; when he gets to the bottom, he traces his hand up Gladiolus’s body to rest by his heart.

With a little more lube on his fingers, Gladiolus slicks himself up. Once he’s ready, he eases himself down. It takes a little repositioning to pull Iggy’s leg up for better access and prop it between them — he’s close enough now that he can lean in to kiss Iggy as he lowers himself into place.

Iggy’s hand is on his ass; he kneads into Gladiolus’s flesh and tugs him down, urging him close.

Iggy’s not tight, exactly, as Gladiolus presses into him — but then _he’s_ always been on the girthier side, so it’s a snug fit. He’s not complaining, anyway, and Iggy doesn’t seem to be either as he breathes out slowly, the pink of his cheeks burning a brighter red as Gladiolus pulls back to look at him.

Progress is slow and tentative; once Gladiolus is flush with Iggy’s hips, he halts and slips his hand up to cup Iggy’s jaw. They find each other’s lips, and it’s so strangely, bewitchingly intimate, as if this were their first kiss — as if every moment that came before meant nothing, compared to this.

As Gladiolus pulls back, Iggy gasps out softly against his lips — not pain, but pleasure. Steadily, Gladiolus thrusts in once more.

He’s not sure if he’s scared of breaking Iggy, or of breaking himself. He feels like his nerves are pulled taut, like he’s been laid bare; this is the most exposed he's been with another human being in a long while and he can’t help but wonder at how much trust it takes to do this.

Does Iggy trust him like that? Gladiolus realises, with a hammering of his heart, that _he_ does, at least.

He picks up a steady pace at the urging of Iggy’s hand, and he glances down to see Iggy take hold of his own length. He pumps in time to the thrusts, and the sight of it — of Iggy, laid out for him, quivering with each thrust — makes Gladiolus’s head spin.

Gladiolus ducks his head down, kissing Iggy’s shoulder. He mouths kisses and bites into the flesh, working his way upward to Iggy’s ear.

‘You like this?’ he growls, nipping at Iggy’s earlobe.

Iggy nods against him.

‘Yes,’ he murmurs. ‘ _Yes._ ’

It’s here, mouth brushing against the heat of Iggy’s skin, that Gladiolus rests his head. He grinds his hips against Iggy’s, feeling the easy strokes of Iggy’s hand, and as he picks up in speed he feels Iggy hurry along too.

It’s not like Gladiolus hasn’t been taking care of himself whenever need arises for the past while, but this is different. Whether he wants it quick and dirty or slow and drawn out, there’s so little variation; with Iggy, just the proximity of him — his warmth, the smell of his aftershave, the feel of his hand sweat-slick on his ass — is enough to drive him nuts.

When Gladiolus feels himself getting too close, he eases off. Pulls back, panting, sweat rolling down his neck.

Iggy looks like he’s not faring much better with his cheeks burning so brightly, his lips swollen with arousal. The dark of his makeup, smudged like charcoal around his eyes, is streaky from perspiration. He still looks fantastic, though, and Gladiolus can’t resist leaning close and treating himself to another kiss.

When Gladiolus is ready, he starts the rolling of his hips once more, steadier now. He shifts back just enough to keep his eyes on Iggy’s, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that seems to strike to Gladiolus’s very core.

This isn’t just _fucking._ That’s never what this was.

Iggy’s eyes are still on his as he heaves out a shuddering breath. He’s lifting his hips against Gladiolus’s now, rolling and grinding them, and the contact is so damn irresistible that Gladiolus can feel pleasure welling up endlessly within him.

A shiver seems to go through Iggy, making him throw his head back; the angle emphasises the cut of his jaw, the pronounced profile of his nose, and Gladiolus indulges himself as he leans in, mouthing kisses against the underside of Iggy’s jaw and downwards, stopping at his collarbone. As he sucks at the flesh there, mouthing a bruise into it, he hears the stroking of Iggy’s hand pick up, wet and noisy and urgent.

Iggy’s getting close; getting tight, muscles contracting and body trembling. It only makes Gladiolus hurry up his pace, careful as always but almost desperate now as he moves against his lover beneath him.

Iggy’s breathing is a ragged mess now, such an undignified state to see him in. Gladiolus basks in it; welcomes it. He slips his hand down to cover Iggy’s and uses it to urge him on, and it’s enough to have Iggy throbbing and pulsing and twitching, semen spurting hot and abundant over both their fingers as he reaches his completion.

It doesn’t take much for Gladiolus; he pulls back, watching Iggy’s face contort in pleasure. With a few more pumps he lets go, the world going white; sateen sheets and lamp glow fade away from him until it’s just Iggy’s warmth, Iggy’s smell, everything about him. He shudders and jerks, scarcely able to control himself, and when he’s done he drops against Iggy, depleted.

The room seems colder now, the longer Gladiolus lies there. He can feel the chill of the night air setting his skin into goosebumps and he knows he could climb under the covers, but he’s so damn _lazy._

He has enough energy, at least, to touch a kiss or two to Iggy’s throat. Reluctantly, he just about manages to climb off and settle himself onto the bed at Iggy’s side.

He’s tossing the condom aside when Iggy moves, getting up suddenly; this time Gladiolus manages to catch him, a hand catching his wrist.

‘Hey,’ he murmurs. ‘You don’t have to go.’

Iggy’s face says he’s in turmoil. Whatever he chooses, Gladiolus respects it, but silently he wills Iggy to stay — to let the walls down, just for a little while. He doesn’t want to be alone, not now; doesn’t want to have to curl up in an empty bed with only memories and the smell of someone else on his sheets.

After a lifetime, Iggy nods. Gladiolus feels his heart soar in turn, and it’s difficult to keep the quiet smile from his lips.

‘I should clean up,’ Iggy says, somewhat meekly. ‘Do you mind?’

Gladiolus shrugs and lets his wrist go, nodding towards the door.

It’s hard not to jump to the worst of conclusions — that Iggy will leave, in spite of everything; that he’ll change his mind somewhere along the way to or from the bathroom. Gladiolus tries not to fret at he slips under the covers, and when he hears the creak of the floorboards just outside the room his stomach flips with relief.

Iggy’s makeup’s gone — or at least the worst of it. He’s starting to look like Ignis, his pompadour teased out of his hair and parted haphazardly to the side. He pauses to shut off the lights outside the room before slipping inside and shutting the door after him.

Somehow, as Iggy eases himself in under the covers, it strikes Gladiolus that this is more daunting than everything that preceded. Cuddling — or not, if Iggy isn’t into that — shouldn’t be such a frightening prospect, but then the thought of falling asleep next to this guy, of _waking up_ next to him, feels like such a massive step that he doesn’t even know how he wound up here.

After he shuts off the lamp, Iggy settles in close to him, his skin cooler now that he’s had time to cover. His shoulders are somewhat angular, and it takes a little adjusting to get into a comfortable position, but it’s with Gladiolus’s head in the crook of Iggy’s neck, arm wrapped around his waist, that he settles in.

Iggy still feels tense, like he’s waiting for something to hit. Like maybe he, too, is scared of what all of this means.

Gladiolus tilts his head down and kisses Iggy’s neck, wrapping his arm a little tighter. After a beat, he feels Iggy’s hand search out his to twine their fingers together.

Outside, the noise of the traffic drifts up from the street below, the steady thrum of the city’s heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	7. Chapter 7

Gladiolus becomes aware, blearily, that he’s being shaken awake. He clings to his dream even as it disintegrates around him — strolling through the park with Pelna, hand-in-hand — and he’s reluctant to open his eyes.

When he does, grudgingly, an unfamiliar face peers down at him in the darkness.

It’s Ignis.

‘Your phone,’ he says. ‘Someone’s calling you.’

Gladiolus squints at him.

‘Wha…?’

Ignis hands over his phone, and for a little while all Gladiolus can do is blink at the brightness of the screen, the colours slowly resolving themselves into shapes.

_ Incoming call: Iris mobile _

From what he can make out of the time on the top right of the screen, it’s 2am; there’s a missed call notification on the top left, with the number ‘12’ beside it.

Twelve missed calls?  _ Shit. _

He lurches upright, almost dropping his phone in his haste. Twelve missed calls, and Iris calling him in the middle of the night? The squirming, awful feeling of dread in his gut says that she’s not just drunkenly calling to say  _ hey. _

What if she’s hurt? What if she’s in trouble? She’s been trying to get in touch for however long, and he’s been passed out beside a relative stranger.

His hands are shaking as he accepts the call; his voice comes out a croak when he answers and he has to clear his throat before he can speak.

‘Iris?’ he says. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay?’

‘Gladdy, thank the  _ Six, _ ’ Iris blurts. She sounds okay — her voice is a little thick, but she seems safe. ‘I’ve been calling  _ forever. _ ’

Ignis touches his hip and motions for the door. After a pause, Gladiolus puts out a hand to halt him and shakes his head.

‘Iris, what’s going on?’ he prompts.

He hears her sigh on the other of the line: a shuddering sound, like she’s trying not to cry. Which sends him spinning into overprotective big brother mode, of course. It’s not even like she  _ needs _ him looking out for her. There might be a decade between them, but she’s an adult now — away at college, working an internship, perfectly capable of looking after herself.

Still, his heart’s thudding as he waits for her response.

‘It’s Dad,’ she says.

Somehow, knowing that it’s not Iris — that she’s not hurt, that nothing happened while he wasn’t there to watch out for her — only buoys him for so long before that insidious feeling of dread fills him once again.

Maybe it’s hearing  _ Dad _ from her lips; maybe it’s the finality in her tone. Whatever it is, he feels a cold resolve as he swallows and knots his fingers into the bedspread. Beside him, Ignis touches a tentative hand to his hip.

‘He had a heart attack,’ she says. ‘I’m so scared, Gladdy.’

He doesn’t know how to feel — whether to be upset or not. All he feels is an empty, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that only seems to be getting worse.

‘Is he…’

Gladiolus can’t bring himself to say the words. True, they haven’t had the best of relationships over the years, and he can’t remember the last time they spoke, but to think of his father being… well,  _ gone? _

‘He’s… okay,’ Iris says. A sighing, sad breath, and then she’s talking once more in a rush: ‘Gladdy — I know this is asking a lot, but I really need you right now. We’re at Insomnia General. Can you get here?’

‘Of course,’ he says, the words out of his mouth before he even think them over.

She gives him the last of the details before she hangs up; he has nothing to write it down with, but the hospital is pretty easy to navigate.

With a sigh, he powers off his phone’s screen and sets it down in his lap.

‘Is everything…’ Ignis begins. He seems to think better of it after a moment, clearing his throat. ‘Did something happen?’

_ Something _ happened, all right. Gladiolus can’t help but think with a bitter pang that his father is the last person he wants to see right now, when Ignis is right here beside him, but it’s not  _ about _ his father: it’s about Iris. She’s upset, understandably, and she needs him.

‘My old man had, uh,’ he says, pushing his hair out of his face. ‘Had a heart attack. He’s at General right now with my sister.’

He watches Ignis blanch, his skin almost translucent in the moonlight. Tentatively, Ignis extends a hand and rests it on Gladiolus’s shoulder, and the contact is more reassuring than he probably realises.

‘We don’t,’ Gladiolus starts. He shakes his head; tries again. ‘We’re not exactly on speaking terms. Things’ve always been… pretty intense. If it wasn’t for Iris, m’not sure I’d go.’

Ignis nods his head. Like he understands — like it’s that simple.

His hand is still on Gladiolus’s shoulder; he pulls himself closer in the bed and nuzzles a kiss into Gladiolus’s collar, dropping his forehead against him.

‘I can come with you,’ Ignis says, softly. ‘If you need the support.’

It’s such a stark about-face that Gladiolus draws in a sharp breath of surprise. A few hours ago, Iggy had been ready to jump out of bed and rush home without a word. That he wants to stick around — to  _ support _ Gladiolus, in his own words — is as unexpected as it is comforting.

Gladiolus wants to say no; wants to be able to face his own father without needing to hide behind somebody’s shoulder. Even as the refusal readies itself on his tongue, however, he considers how easy it would be to accept Ignis’s offer. To know that Ignis would be there, at his side, no matter how bad things might get.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ he says. ‘But… I’d appreciate the company.’

They shower quickly, with what little hot water is left; Gladiolus lays out a fresh shirt for Ignis to borrow while he’s in the bathroom, and when Ignis comes out to change, he takes his own turn.

The apartment is thick with the smell of coffee when Gladiolus emerges from the shower, his wet hair tied behind his head. It’s a little jarring to see Ignis there, in the kitchenette, puttering about as if he lives there. It’s not a  _ bad _ image, exactly — it’s more that Gladiolus doesn’t dare to let himself get comfortable with it.

They drink their coffee in a rush, and by the time they’ve finished, the cab Gladiolus called is waiting outside.

All the way to the hospital, Ignis is silent. He fidgets with the sleeves of the borrowed shirt where he’s rolled them up, looking about the interior of the car. The shirt’s a poor fit for him, several sizes too large, but Gladiolus can’t deny even with his frayed nerves that Ignis looks good in his clothes.

Iris practically ambushes him when they get through to the waiting room; she jumps up, throwing her arms around his neck, and even though she’s a head and shoulders shorter than him, he’s almost bowled over by her.

‘Gladdy,’ she says at his ear, her voice thick with gratitude. ‘Thank you so much.’

While Ignis stands awkwardly off to the side, Gladiolus slips his arms around Iris’s middle and squeezes her tight, as if he might never let her go.

He finally gets a good look at her when she lets go and drops to her feet. She’s uncharacteristically understated in a pair of yoga pants and an oversized Insomnia-U hoodie, her short hair pinned back. Beneath the strands of dark brown, there’s a layer dyed pink, curling close to her neck. That’s new.

‘The doc’s in with him right now,’ she says. ‘It shouldn’t take long, if you wanna go see ‘im.’

Gladiolus is weighing up the merits of letting her know he might just give it a miss when she turns her glance on Ignis.

She’s always been perceptive — quick to catch   on to the intricacies of a particular situation. She eyes Ignis up, taking in his pants and Gladiolus’s shirt, and once her silent assessment is done she puts on her brightest smile and steps forward, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

‘Hey,’ she says. ‘I’m Iris, Gladdy’s sister.’

‘Ignis,’ he replies.

Gladiolus wonders what his little sister has put together about the two of them — whether she’s already estimated the scope of whatever it is they have together. Either way, he’s glad that Ignis’s makeup is gone, his hair now neatly brushed down into its usual style.

‘I’ll get coffee, shall I?’ Ignis asks.

That they already had a cup at home — that the caffeine still jangles in Gladiolus system, along with the gamut of nerves — doesn’t seem to matter. He’s already stalking off toward the coffee machine in the far corner and fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

‘I’m really glad you came, Gladdy,’ Iris says.

She leads him to the seating area, holding his hand just like she used to when she was little, and he sees she’s picked out a spot by one of the end tables, the surface of which is already littered with empty drinks cups and candy wrappers.

‘Geez, Iris,’ he says, shaking his head with disapproval. ‘You eaten anything that  _ wasn’t _ pure sugar since you got here?’

‘I needed the pick-me-up,’ she protests.

She still has a treasure trove of snacks; by the time Ignis returns, they’re gobbling down protein bars flavoured with raspberry and white chocolate.

The coffee, Gladiolus decides with a slight wince, is not half as good as the cup Ignis prepared for him at the apartment.

‘So what do you do, Iggy?’ Iris asks.

Gladiolus flinches in spite of himself; watches Ignis open his mouth slightly in surprise. She’s always been disarmingly friendly and informal with people, so it’s not her fault that she accidentally stumbled upon the name of Ignis’s alter-ego.

‘I’m in accounting,’ he replies. ‘You’re… a student?’

He gestures to her hoodie and the logo emblazoned thereupon with the Insomnian skull motif behind it.

Iris’s grin is luminous; she seems more than happy to make small talk with this new acquaintance, and even though Gladiolus figures she’s probably got the wrong idea, he’s grateful to see her smiling.

‘Yup,’ she says. ‘When I’m not breaking my back interning with  _ The Bulletin. _ ’

‘She runs a blog, too,’ Gladiolus chimes in. ‘Trust me — if you think she’s impressive, you ain’t seen the half of it.’

Somehow, in the clinical, disinfectant-scented surrounds of the waiting room with fluorescent lights boring down from overhead, the smile Ignis wears as their eyes meet is enough to make Gladiolus’s heart skip.

‘It sounds as though your brother cares for you a great deal,’ Ignis says, looking at Iris.

She’s positively beaming, but then she glances right past them and stands up to slip down the row of seats. There’s a doctor there, tall and handsome in the dashing, medical-drama sort of way. His face is severe; his expression as he speaks with Iris doesn’t bode well.

She looks upset when she comes back to them, but like she’s trying her hardest to hold it together.

‘He’s still awake,’ she says. ‘If you wanna go talk to him, you should go now.’

All at once, Gladiolus feels sweat bead the palms of his hands. He had hoped that his old man would be asleep when he got here, or that he could back out of seeing him without too much trouble, but Iris looks so expectant. So hopeful.

She doesn’t wait for his reply — just jaunts back over to the doctor, probably to bombard him with questions.

Gladiolus shoots a glance at Ignis, who touches a hand to his hip.

‘It’s your choice,’ he murmurs. ‘Nobody can force you to go in there.’

Gladiolus sighs. Maybe he’d feel better if Ignis told him he  _ should _ go in; the feeling of guilt is almost too much, and he knows that if he walks out of the hospital it’ll only get worse.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘But… I gotta face my demons sometime, huh?’

Ignis nods. His hand is still on Gladiolus’s hip, warm and reassuring.

‘You should get home,’ Gladiolus says. ‘S’late. I’unno how long I’ll be here.’

He wants to thank Ignis for coming along to begin with — and to beg him to stick around, as much as he knows he can’t — but the words stick in his throat. Ignis seems to get the sentiment, however, and his hand squeezes slightly before he pulls it away.

‘You’re right,’ he replies. ‘You should be here for your sister. That’s all that matters.’

They stand up together and Gladiolus walks to Iris’s side; he’s about to tell her his decision when he realises Ignis has already slipped away, silently, his figure retreating toward the elevator.

‘You coming?’ Iris says, nodding her head toward the hallway.

Gladiolus takes in a deep breath of the too-clean air and balls his hands at his sides.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘After you.’

* * *

Clarus Amicitia has never been a shrinking violet. Between his height and the set of his shoulders, he’s an intimidating man — and that’s without the booming of his voice, only ever brought out in anger.

To see him now, pale and gaunt, is a jarring experience.

He manages a smile as paper-thin as the gown that preserves his modesty when he sees Iris; when he sees Gladiolus just beyond her, however, the smile evaporates.

Gladiolus feels like turning around and running back the way he came. He doesn’t.

Iris rushes to the man’s side and takes his hand, clutching it tight. Even now, weak as he is, his fingers still dwarf hers.

‘Gladdy came to see you,’ Iris says. ‘I told him what happened.’

The floor of the room must’ve been polished recently; it squeaks underneath Gladiolus’s boots as he crosses the space and stands at the end of the bed, as far from the frail man lying in it as he can get.

‘Gladiolus,’ his father says. ‘You… look well.’

The guy’s had a coronary and he’s still as stiff and formal as ever.  _ Gods. _

‘Cut the bullshit,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’m only here ‘cause you had a heart attack and your daughter was fucking terrified. What the hell happened? You’re barely sixty.’

Iris flinches; she turns with an open mouth to protest but their father shakes his head, waving her off.

‘It’s all right, Iris,’ he says. ‘Would you give us a minute?’

She seems reluctant to leave; her glance darts between each of them as she goes, as though afraid they’ll tear into one another.

With some effort, the man pushes himself up a little more upright. It looks as though it causes him pain; Gladiolus would have a bit more sympathy if he weren’t currently shaking with adrenaline, all of the years of anger and hurt just waiting to burst out.

‘I’m glad you came,’ the man says. ‘Whether or not it’s for Iris or for me. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but—’

Gladiolus snorts, loud and undignified, effectively cutting him off.

‘Like I said,’ Gladiolus snaps. ‘Cut the bullshit.’

His father’s lips thin as if in disapproval. He waits for the typical dressing-down that could be expected from him on occasions such as this, but it never comes.

‘It’s stress,’ the man says. ‘My doctor’s been at me for months now to start taking a backseat with the company, but you know I can’t do that. Regis is counting on me.’

‘Are you serious?’ Gladiolus counters. He grabs the rail at the end of the bed, leaning over it to point an accusing finger at his father. ‘Do you hear yourself right now? It’s your  _ health, _ Dad. So you work yourself into an early grave, then what? Iris gets to keep putting a brave face on, like she always does? She deserves better than that and you know it.’

He’s trembling again; he has to grip the rail until his knuckles go white to steady himself.

His father looks taken aback.  _ Good. _

‘I didn’t mean for it to end up the way it did, Gladiolus,’ he says. ‘I hope you know that.’

Gladiolus feels anger wash over him in waves. It’s all well and good for his dad to say that now, but it doesn’t change anything — doesn’t take back the years of feeling like he had brought shame on the family’s name just for breaking off the engagement and choosing to love who he did.

‘Spare me,’ he snaps. ‘I need you to tell me, right now, that you’re going to stop being such a selfish piece of crap. You can’t disappoint me any more, but Iris still thinks the world of you. She  _ needs _ you.’

He wouldn’t be surprised if his father didn’t order him out of the room in a rage; it wouldn’t be the first time. He bristles as he waits, prepared to unleash another tirade, but when he glares into his father’s eyes — a piercing blue, unlike the amber he and Iris inherited from their mother — the man’s expression is one of defeat.

‘You’re right, son,’ his father says. ‘You’re right.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?? A rogue chapter???

While Prompto and Noctis argue over a decision in the tabletop game they’ve been playing, Gladiolus is lost in a daydream.

He has an image in his head — soft and hazy around the edges, yet somehow as clear as if it were real — of Pelna standing in front of the stove, moving subconsciously to imaginary music that pipes out of the radio. He can picture perfectly the way Pelna would idly reach over to the spice rack and pick out the jar he was seeking by touch, without even looking.

His vision ripples; it’s not Pelna there any more but Ignis, meticulously making coffee as if it were an art.

‘Gladio,’ Noct says. His voice is tinged with irritation; he and Prompto have been arguing long enough. ‘It’s your call.’

Gladiolus blinks, and the daydream dissolves. He turns his attention from the kitchen to the spread on the table and clears his throat.

‘Uh,’ he says. ‘What was the problem again?’

Prompto throws his hands up; Noct groans.

‘Can we, uh,’ Gladiolus says, scratching his neck. ‘Can we take a break? I’m gonna be seein’ dice rolls in my sleep.’

Noct heaves a sigh, but he shrugs in the end.

‘Want another drink?’ Prompto says.

While they help themselves to the off-brand vodka they brought, Gladiolus gets up to stretch his legs. He wanders, unconsciously, through to the bedroom; although the sheets have been changed, he can still picture the dark sateen, Iggy’s fair skin contrasting against it.

With a groan, he pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s losing it.

The last vestiges of spring coolness have finally, reluctantly, given way to summer — the city’s been under a freak heatwave for the past week, and as much as Gladiolus thrives in the heat, even  _ he _ can’t wait for it to break. The humidity is just too much.

He moves to the double window, unlatching it and stepping out on the balcony. There’s a little bit of a breeze up here; he closes his eyes and basks in it.

His reprieve doesn’t last very long, interrupted by the buzzing of the phone in his pocket. He has a sinking sensation it’s probably Iris calling to give him another update on their father, and even though talking to her is always a treat, he’s not so sure he’s ready for that conversation. Still, he slips his phone from his pocket and, with a little twinge of surprise, sees a number he doesn’t recognise.

‘Lo?’

‘Gladiolus?’

The sound of Ignis’s voice — that delicious accent, the prim tone to his words — is like a hand inside his chest, gripping at his heart. He feels a little sick and scared and excited all at once.

‘Ignis?’ he says tentatively. ‘How… How you been?’

There’s a slight intake of breath on the other end of the line.

‘I… procured your number from my uncle’s files,’ Ignis says. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Doesn’t sound very  _ proper  _ of you _ , _ ’ Gladiolus teases, chuckling. ‘You know you coulda just asked, right? Ain’t exactly privileged information.’

‘Yes, well,’ Ignis replies, clearing his throat. ‘I normally wouldn’t, but you haven’t been at the bar and I thought…’

While Gladiolus waits for the words, his heart thuds heavily against his ribs. He’s had his own reasons for not hitting up Fascination Street — and he feels even worse about it knowing that Ignis was looking for him — but it’s an unexpected development for Ignis to be the one doing the chasing.

‘You thought…?’ he prompts.

‘I thought I’d see how you’re doing,’ Ignis finishes. ‘And ask if you’re free tonight. Perhaps I could come over…’

Slyly, Gladiolus casts a glance toward the doorway into the living room. He can still just about see the others where they sit on the couch, bickering once again over the game.

‘Tonight?’ he murmurs, turning back toward the skyline. He rests his weight on the rail of the balcony, grinning to himself in the twilight. ‘This a booty call?’

He wishes he could see Ignis’s face — especially when he hears the blustering across the line, as though the guy’s offended, but can’t exactly deny it. And Gladiolus thought  _ he _ had it bad.

‘I’m just playin’ with ya,’ he says. ‘I got company right now. Lemme get rid of ‘em and I’ll call back?’

Ignis’s voice is considerably more restrained as he gives his response: ‘Certainly.’

Gladiolus can already imagine his friends’ protests when he tells them to get going, especially when he sees that their fresh drinks are only half-empty. He’d feel a little bad if he weren’t already mentally planning for Ignis’s arrival.

‘I’m beat,’ he says, tapping Noct’s shoulder as he leans across to grab his own empty glass. ‘Gotta call it a night.’

Prompto gives a groan of disappointment, but he still moves to clear up the game from the coffee table. Noctis, however, doesn’t seem so convinced; he rounds on Gladiolus, his eyes narrowed shrewdly.

‘Who is he?’

Gladiolus freezes on his way toward the kitchenette. When he turns around, they’re both watching him — Prompto has that giddy look on his face like his birthday came early.

‘Who says it ain’t a  _ she? _ ’ Gladiolus counters. ‘And anyways. Ain’t  _ anybody. _ Just sick of listenin’ to you two bitch about whether to roll for Wisdom or Intelligence.’

When it seems that the subject might be dropped, Gladiolus turns back toward the kitchenette and sets his glass down in the sink. He’s rinsing it out when he hears Noct’s voice chime in.

‘So you were just smiling at  _ nobody _ on the phone?’ Noct says. ‘And  _ nobody _ showed up at the hospital with you, wearing one of your shirts?’

_ Iris. _

Gladiolus would be pissed if it were anybody else.

‘I don’t know what my little sister’s been sayin’,’ he says, affecting a dull tone as he turns to look at Noct, ‘but she’s got it all wrong.’

‘Mhm,’ Noct says, rolling his eyes. ‘Sure.’

They’re barely out the door when his hand goes for his phone, ready to dial Ignis.

Noct just looks at him knowingly; it’s Prompto who pipes up.

‘Have fun!’ he says. ‘Be safe!’

* * *

A half hour later, Iggy’s at the door, a bottle of wine in one hand and a folded bundle that Gladiolus presumes to be the borrowed shirt in the other. He — and the bottle of red he brought — is a welcome sight.

He’s done up demurely again, dark eyes and pale gloss on his lips. He’s wearing a purple shirt which brings out the green of his eyes.

‘I hope I didn’t disrupt your plans,’ Iggy says.

Gladiolus scoffs.

‘Trust me,’ he retorts. ‘Wasn’t anythin’ I’d rather be doing.’

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ Iggy asks, leaning against the doorframe coyly.

‘Thinkin’ about it.’

Gladiolus leans forward, his arms winding around Iggy’s waist as their lips meet.

He takes Iggy’s hand, leading him in and kicking the door after him. The first task — getting some wine glasses together. At least he knows he has those, although two of them got cracked at the housewarming when Prompto was kidding around on the couch. He finds two in perfect condition and brings them over to the couch, setting them down on the coffee table.

That had been how it started last time, days earlier — the two of them on the sofa, a pair of drinks between them. Gladiolus can feel the longing, tight in his core, prompted by Iggy being so close again.

At least Iggy doesn’t down his drink this time, like before. He savours the first sip, watching Gladiolus over the brim of his glass.

‘So you’re an accountant, huh?’ Gladiolus says, pausing to take a sip from his own glass. It’s surprisingly light and fragrant. ‘How come my kid sister gets to know a little about you and I don’t?’

Beside him, Iggy shifts uncomfortably on the couch.

‘I’m not usually in the habit of leaving behind clothing,’ he says, gesturing toward the shirt where it sits on the table. From what Gladiolus can tell, it’s not only been laundered — it’s pressed.

‘It’s a good excuse to come back,’ Gladiolus teases.

Iggy touches his knee. The contact is electric; he feels heat rise to the surface of his skin.

‘Do I  _ need _ an excuse?’ Iggy says.

He chases his words with a sip of wine, leaving the faintest imprint of gloss on them. Gladiolus’s gaze is on the outline of his bottom lip when he feels Iggy’s eyes on him; he lifts his glance, meeting Iggy’s, and he knows that they aren’t finishing that bottle of wine.

Iggy sets his glass aside. He moves his hand up, from Gladiolus’s knee and along his inner thigh. Ripples of pleasure following in the wake of his touch; Gladiolus tenses in anticipation, but Iggy stops just short with a mischievous smirk.

‘I guess you don’t,’ Gladiolus says hoarsely. ‘I know  _ I’m _ not complainin’.’

A second sip of the wine, and even though he’s far from tipsy it’s still heady stuff.

He tips his head back against the couch behind him, looking lazily at Iggy. He moves his free hand down to Iggy’s, tracing it up over his slender wrist, up along his forearm. When he glances down, he can see Iggy’s skin breaking into goosebumps under his touch.

Onward he goes, over the fold of Iggy’s sleeve, where it’s neatly turned up at the elbow; up Iggy’s upper arm and across to the collar of Iggy’s shirt where it hangs open.

He takes a gulp of his wine, then leans across to set it aside. When he turns back, he returns his hand to the opening of Iggy’s shirt and thumbs over the top-most fastened button. With a nod from Iggy, he works it open; leans in and kisses him, tasting the wine on his lips.

Button by button he goes, exposing more of Iggy’s shoulders. When he gets down around Iggy’s midriff he trails his fingers through the sparse, fair hair there and Iggy’s sighs softly in response.

‘You look so  _ good,’ _ Gladiolus groans.

He leans down, lips moving over Iggy’s neck, and as his hand slips further downward he can feel Iggy arch up towards his touch.

He fumbles at Iggy’s belt; when he takes too long, Iggy helps out, and between them they get it open. From there, Gladiolus all but shoves his hand into Iggy’s pants, finding him already rock-hard beneath. With a moan of appreciation he closes his hand over Iggy’s erection through the layer of his underwear and strokes firmly upwards, eliciting a little gasp of pleasure from him.

Iggy’s cheeks are red, his eyes a little dazed as Gladiolus looks up into them. Gladiolus wonders if he should move things to the bedroom, but he doesn’t think he could stand to be apart from Iggy, even for the few moments it’ll take to get to the bed.

He nudges Iggy instead, until he lies out flat on his back, and Gladiolus lowers himself over him, working his hand eagerly beneath the layer of his pants as he seeks out Iggy’s lips in a kiss.

There’s a damp spot, at the head of Iggy’s cock, and Gladiolus can feel it through the cotton of his underwear. He strokes his thumb over it until he feels another flood of wetness trickle out under his touch. In a frantic fit of desire, he tugs his hand free and licks the pad of his thumb, moaning at the taste.

Beneath him, Iggy lifts his hips and yanks at his pants; he only gets them partway down his hips before Gladiolus dives in again, catching him in a kiss while his hand finds its way back to Iggy’s cock.

It doesn’t take much, admittedly, before Iggy’s panting against Gladiolus’s lips, clearly on the brink — but then Gladiolus doesn’t feel like he’s faring much better, what with the incessant throb between his thighs, just begging for relief.

Iggy grasps Gladiolus’s wrist with a warning glance, pulling it away.

‘Don’t want to spoil the fun,’ Iggy murmurs. ‘Not until you’ve had some, at least.’

Gladiolus chuckles.

‘You think I ain’t already?’

It’s not as if he’s complaining, though, when Iggy reaches down and works open his belt. The fit of Gladiolus’s jeans is a tight squeeze — it takes a little wriggling and maneuvering, but eventually they’re down his hips, giving Iggy room to work.

But of course it isn’t that simple, and Iggy seems content to do little more than tease. He hooks the tip of his index finger over the band of Gladiolus’s boxers and skirts it along his hip. The contact has Gladiolus huffing out a breath in anticipation, but still Iggy only teases.

‘You’re killing me here,’ Gladiolus groans, dropping his head against Iggy’s shoulder.

‘That’s the point.’

Iggy’s voice is uncharacteristically wry; when Gladiolus pulls back to glance at him, there’s a ghost of a smile to his lips. Gladiolus opens his mouth to protest, but then a pang of pleasure goes through him as Iggy slips his hand into his underwear and gives him a teasing stroke.

This is good — better than good — but even as Iggy methodically works over him, teasing him  _ just right, _ Gladiolus finds his mind wandering. When he’d been the one doing the teasing, it was easy to lose himself in it; now, there’s little more than the pleasure to keep his head in the game, and as  _ pleasurable _ as it is, it’s not enough.

He thinks of Iggy coming with him to the hospital — thinks back before that, to how good it had felt to fall asleep next to him. 

Will they ever do that again? Fall asleep together? Will this ever be more than  _ just fucking? _

He must’ve been frowning, because Iggy stops and gives him a wary look; Gladiolus is so distracted he almost doesn’t notice at first, not until Iggy’s voice rings out.

‘Is everything all right?’ Iggy asks. ‘Would you like me to stop?’

Gladiolus swallows. After a pause, he wets his lips and shakes his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Sorry, it’s fine.’

Iggy doesn’t pick the rhythm up again right away — he stretches up a hand and gently cups Gladiolus’s neck, using his grip to pull him close. The first kiss is halting: tentative. The next, picking up just as his hand begins to move once more over Gladiolus’s cock, is more needy and hurried.

It’s easy, for a little while, to get lost in it all: the heat of their skin wherever they’re in contact with each other, the slick sounds Iggy’s hand makes as it moves. Gladiolus tells himself maybe it doesn’t  _ have _ to be more than this. That they could fool around by night and act like they don’t know each other by day, and it would be enough.

Iggy’s not kissing him any more — and then he’s not touching him, either. When Gladiolus opens his eyes and glances at his would-be lover inquisitively, he’s not sure he likes the look in Iggy’s eyes.

‘I should go,’ Iggy says.

The rejection hurts, but no worse than the dejection written into Iggy’s shoulders as he turns away.

‘Wait,’ Gladiolus blurts.

He barely has time to move out of Iggy’s way; barely rights himself as Iggy shoves out from underneath him. He’s already straightening out his clothes like he means to know, and if Gladiolus didn’t know better he’d think the guy didn’t want to be with him.

He  _ does _ know better, though. Knows that this is his fault.

‘Iggy.’

He puts out a hand and catches Iggy’s wrist. With the slightest pull of resistance from the other man, he lets go and sighs.

‘‘I’m sorry, Ig,’ he says. ‘It’s not — it’s not you. I got a lot on my mind. My dad… Everything.’

Iggy moves his hand toward the bridge of his nose, as if to right the glasses he usually wears there by day. It must be a nervous tic; he seems to catch it right away, letting his hand drop to his side.

‘I understand,’ he replies. ‘I’m still not entirely sure my being here is the best idea.’

Gladiolus feels it like a hit to the gut. It’s not even that he doesn’t want the booty call to end; he doesn’t want Iggy to go, period. Whether they’re just talking, whether they’re fucking, whether Iggy’s tagging along to the hospital when he had no need to — Gladiolus likes having him around.

He swallows and straightens himself out, pulling his clothes back into order. After a pause, he reaches for the bottle of wine and proffers it toward the other man.

‘Still got most of the bottle left,’ he says. ‘Be a shame to let it go to waste.’

He can see it there: the little moment of hesitation as Iggy’s eyes flit towards the door. If Iggy moves to go again, Gladiolus won’t stop him.

It’s while they’re standing there, caught in limbo, that Gladiolus hears it: the gush of rain as the heavens crack open, unleashing a flood upon the city. What little breeze there had been before, pathetic and stagnant in spite of his attempts at throwing open the windows to coax it in, is tinged with the scent of petrichor. The city’s been parched for too long; so has Gladiolus.

Iggy doesn’t question it as he moves to the open window and stands by it, looking out into the night. He can feel the air whipping droplets of water into his face, and for a while he just basks in the coolness — in the feeling of the weight of the humidity being lifted from his shoulders.

He feels Iggy’s hand on his shoulder, warm and gentle; when he turns to look, the other man is watching him unguardedly.

‘Come with me,’ Iggy says.

He grabs the bottle of wine as he goes, making for the door. Gladiolus watches uncertainly as he unlatches it and steps outside — but when Gladiolus catches up to him, he’s sitting on the landing with his back to the wall, his face turned up toward the skylight.

Gladiolus remembers, distantly, that Iggy —  _ Ignis _ — had told them about this when he had first come to view it.

_ It’s rather nice when it’s raining, _ or something like that, in that stuffy accent of his.

Wearily, he lowers himself to the ground by Iggy, keeping a little distance between them. When the wine is offered, he takes a swig right from the lip of the bottle.

‘I hadn’t…’

Gladiolus almost thinks he imagined that Iggy ever spoke, softly as he did. When he looks over, however, it’s like the guy’s turning it over his head — trying to find the words. Silently, patiently, he waits.

‘I hadn’t intended for things to turn out as they did,’ Iggy says, clearing his throat. ‘After that night at the Street, I thought I’d never see you again.’

Gladiolus swallows. When he thinks back to the first time they met — well, the first time they met  _ socially _ — he wonders how it all might have played out if he’d just put the guy out of his mind. Lots of people hook up without catching each other’s names; probably happens at Fascination Street all the time. So why had this felt different?

‘I, uh,’ Gladiolus says, wetting his lips. ‘I don’t usually…  _ do that. _ Hookups.’

Beside him, he thinks he can feel Iggy tense just slightly.

‘I see,’ Iggy says.

Gladiolus wonders if now’s the point he should explain that he hasn’t even really  _ been _ with anybody. That before Pelna, there were only a handful of others: all women. That after Pelna, there was only Iggy.

Instead he coughs into his hand as he passes the bottle back and drops his head against the wall behind him to look up at the water thundering down on the skylight.

Other than a couple stray kisses and some fumbling around over layers of clothes, he’s only  _ really  _ been with two guys; one of them a random hookup, the other somebody he figured he’d marry someday. Compared to Iggy, he’s probably a goddamned virgin.

‘Truth is,’ he says haltingly. ‘I couldn’t get you outta my head after we met. Crowe told me I was just wasting my time.’

He chases his words with a wry chuckle. He’s not even sure what possessed him to keep going back to the bar — desperation, maybe. Loneliness? Whatever the reason, it had been like an itch that he couldn’t quite seem to scratch.

‘I didn’t want to lead you on,’ Iggy murmurs.

Gladiolus turns his head and looks at Iggy, brow furrowing. For just a moment he wonders if maybe there’s somebody else — if there’s a wife and kids back home, if  _ Ignis _ created the whole  _ Iggy _ persona as a way to get his rocks off guilt-free. It’d be a nice, neat explanation for how withdrawn the guy is, for how he can’t seem to stop pulling away every time it feels like Gladiolus is getting anywhere with him.

Somehow, though, he doesn’t seem like the cheating type.

‘I wasn’t looking for anything,’ Gladiolus says, turning his glance back to the skylight. ‘Wasn’t even looking for a fling, if I’m honest. Not really the rebound type.’

‘Rebound?’

When Gladiolus brings himself to look at Iggy, his green eyes are watching him curiously. He wonders if he’s said too much — if he’s overstepping his bounds by opening up. Yet even as he thinks as much, he keeps going.

‘I was, uh,’ he says, pausing to clear his throat. ‘Was in a pretty serious relationship. When he left me, I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t even have a place to stay.’

Understanding blooms in Iggy’s eyes, and then something close to pity. His expression is hard and cold when he turns away and lifts the wine to take a sip.

‘I guess when you’ve been with somebody for so long,’ Gladiolus says, ‘you kinda forget how to function without ‘em. You know what I realised the other day? Pel used to put garbanzo beans in everything, and I just ate ‘em up for years. And I fucking hate garbanzo beans.’

He lets out a chuckle, expecting Iggy to laugh in turn, but there isn’t so much as a smile on his lips.

‘I’unno why I’m tellin’ you this,’ Gladiolus says, shaking his head. ‘Sorry.’

Iggy’s still hogging the bottle. After another gulp, he hands it over.

‘How long were you together?’ he asks quietly.

‘Six years,’ Gladiolus replies. ‘Almost seven. Longer if you count all that time he spent lookin’ out for me, while I figured everything out.’

Gladiolus lets the words hang in the silence awhile. Iggy doesn’t ask him to elaborate — maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he doesn’t want to get involved — but it feels like a knot in Gladiolus’s throat, threatening to choke him if he doesn’t spit it out.

‘I didn’t always, uh,  _ know,’ _ he says. ‘Was engaged, for a while. The daughter of one of my dad’s associates. Everybody said what a beautiful couple we were, what beautiful babies we’d make. Never really understood that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.’

‘Until you did.’

He hadn’t expected Iggy to chime in — he’s still looking away when Gladiolus tries to catch his eye.

‘Yeah,’ Gladiolus murmurs. ‘Till I did. Then I left my fiancée, and all hell broke loose. Pelna helped me pick up the pieces, and… the rest is history.’

He’s not sure if he feels better, now that it’s all out. If spilling his life story to this man he hardly knows has helped shared the burden, or just brought it all the the surface.

‘You’re the first,’ he finds himself blurting, in spite of every instinct telling him to shut up. ‘The first since… since Pel.’

It’s out now, and he can’t take it back, and he wonders if Iggy’s judging him or pitying him or feeling anything at all.

If not for the hammering of the rain on the skylight, they’d be sitting in silence — the air is heavy between them, with the weight of all that’s been said.

‘I should go,’ Iggy says softly.

Gladiolus isn’t surprised, really, as he watches Iggy set the wine aside and rise to his feet. All he can do is sit there as the other man heads back into the apartment to grab a few forgotten belongings and emerges once more onto the landing.

‘So that’s just it?’ Gladiolus asks flatly, as Iggy takes the first step. ‘You’re goin’?’

Iggy pauses with a sigh, and for a while he stands with one foot on the first step, the other on the top of the landing. Eventually, slowly, he turns to face Gladiolus with one hand on the rail beside him.

‘It’s difficult moving on,’ he says. ‘It hurts. It will keep hurting, until you wake up one day and you realise it doesn’t any more. When that happens, maybe you’ll find someone who makes you feel the way he once did.’

Gladiolus opens his mouth; tries to formulate a reply, but Iggy’s already turning back toward the stairs, lowering his foot toward the next one.

He’s not sure what to feel as he watches the guy go, taking each step briskly until he vanishes from sight. For a long while, as Iggy’s footsteps echo up through the stairwell, he can only sit and listen, absently lifting the wine to his lips and draining the last of it, bitter dregs and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)


	9. Chapter 9

Gladiolus had every intention of ignoring whatever it was that had his father calling him in the middle of the day, and he might have gotten away with it — if Iris hadn’t butted in.

In hindsight, he wonders if he should be mad at her, knowing as she had that he would never refuse where she was involved.

‘He’s late,’ he mutters, rubbing his thumb over the logo on the oversized mug in front of him.

He’s not usually one for so much caffeine, but where Clarus is concerned, he figures he needs it.

Iris twists her wrist to look at her watch — some bright, childish thing she’s had since she was eleven — and makes a face. He can tell she let herself get her hopes up, and while he doesn’t want to be the one to say  _ I told you so, _ he feels like it’s time to face reality.

‘Don’t know why he even makes plans if he’s not gonna show,’ he mutters.

‘Gladdy.’

There’s hurt in her eyes, and he knows just how badly she wants him to be wrong. She doesn’t know what their father was like when their mom was still around — doesn’t have anything to compare his bullshit too. She’s spent almost her whole life trying to please him, trying to impress him, but Gladiolus has no such illusions any more.

‘Sorry, Iris,’ he says. He leans back in his seat with a sigh and pushes his hands back through his hair, tucking loose strands from his ponytail behind his ears. ‘We should order, all right? If he shows, he shows.’

It’s just lunch. If it had been anything more formal than a sit-down at a casual place in Midtown, he’s not sure he would’ve said yes even for Iris’s sake. It’s just lunch, just one hour out of his life, and if he’s lucky the bastard might not even show.

They’re placing their orders when Clarus finally turns up. He’s only a little less pale than the last time Gladiolus saw him, although he seems to have regained some of his strength, and he still commands attention as he crosses the busy eatery and scans the room. It isn’t long before he spots Iris in her vibrant pink souvenir jacket and makes a beeline for their table.

‘Daddy,’ Iris says, almost knocking the waiter over in her haste to hop from her seat and hug him.

‘Would you like me to come back?’ the waiter offers.

‘That’s all right,’ Clarus says, with a smile at his daughter. ‘You order whatever’s good.’

They finish off ordering while their father takes his seat — Iris picks out a caesar salad for him after some bickering over what constitutes ‘healthy’ — and once the waiter is gone, Gladiolus rounds his gaze on Clarus.

‘You’re late,’ he says sharply. ‘Weren’t you the one who wanted this little pow wow?’

‘Gladdy—’

Across the small table, Clarus’s piercing blue eyes level on Gladiolus. To Gladiolus, it feels as though a silent battle of wills has begun — as though the old man expects him to back down, to give in without a fight. A decade ago, maybe he would’ve; maybe he never would’ve dared speak out to begin with.

It’s different now. Clarus looks away first.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I got held up at the office.’

Iris makes a sound of disgruntlement, and by her side Gladiolus can see her clenching her fists at her side.

_ ‘Daddy,’ _ she protests. ‘You  _ said _ you were going to start working from home.’

‘I did,’ Clarus says with a weary sigh. ‘But it’s not all as simple as that. There needs to be a transition.’

It’s doublespeak, Gladiolus realises. If his father isn’t careful, he’ll work himself into an early grave.

‘And you, Gladiolus?’ Clarus asks, turning his attention toward him. ‘Iris told me you’ve been working security. How have you been finding it?’

Gladiolus shrugs. First time his father’s ever shown an interest in something like this; it’s hard not to feel like he’s angling for something.

‘Fine,’ he says gruffly. ‘I’m with a firm, so I don’t really have a fixed schedule. Pays the bills.’

He watches Clarus blink and incline his head slightly, like he’s trying to understand how such a gig could work. Gladiolus knows the deal — Clarus Amicitia has never struggled to put food on the table, never wondered when the next paycheck would come. So maybe Gladiolus benefited just as much as Iris from that upbringing, but it didn’t stop his dad from throwing him out on his ass when it was convenient to do so.

‘Noct told me your new place is really nice,’ Iris blurts out brightly. ‘Are you gonna ask me to come see it, or do I need to invite myself?’

_ Shit. _ Gladiolus has been so distracted with everything — with  _ Iggy _ — that he hasn’t even put any serious thought into having Iris over.

For all his complaining about his dad never being around when it mattered, he’s kind of been a terrible brother, too.

‘Next weekend,’ he says. ‘Pizza?’

Iris’s smile is enough to wash away the last vestiges of tension enshrouding the table. She cheerily turns to her iced tea and picks it up, taking a sip. It isn’t long, however, before she’s setting the glass down again and looking at Gladiolus inquisitively.

‘You can invite that guy around too, if you want,’ she says meaningfully. ‘He seemed nice.’

There’s no question of who it is that she means; Gladiolus feels his blood run cold, and as though the rest of the eatery has frozen in place, it’s like he and the others at the table are the only ones moving on normal time. He tries to fight the urge to glance in his father’s direction, but his will is too weak — he casts a sidelong look and sees that Clarus has gone stiff where he sits.

He wonders if his father knows about Pelna; if Iris filled him in on all the details in a misguided but well-intentioned attempt at mending bridges. Wonders if Clarus would be pleased to know that the relationship he disapproved so much of wound up falling to pieces.

Gladiolus clears his throat and pretends to busy himself with his coffee, buying himself a little time to think as he tips it back.

‘He’s just a friend,’ he says, after a long silence, once his mug is back on the table. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

He avoids the pointed glance Iris gives him, but with his father sitting awkwardly at the other side of the table, there’s not really anyplace else to look. He settles for glowering down into the depths of his coffee mug.

Maybe, if he’s lucky, a freak asteroid will fall and relieve him of this nightmare. Otherwise, he’s not entirely sure it’ll ever end.

To his right, Iris’s eyes are practically burning into him as she tries to catch his attention.

‘He seemed like more than just a—’ she begins, cutting off as the waiter arrives with their order.

With food to distract them, at least, there’s something to break up the tension. Gladiolus can hardly taste his club sandwich as he chews his way through it; if he’s quick enough, he can probably make his excuses and go.

‘I told Daddy he should take up a hobby,’ Iris says, in a pause between bites. ‘Something to keep him occupied after he cuts back on his work.’

‘Iris’s suggestions were golf or sudoku,’ Clarus states. At least his tone sounds a little less stiff. ‘Do you remember the country club, Gladiolus? We used to go every summer.’

Gladiolus feels something stick in his throat as he swallows a lump of food, hard. Carefully, he replaces the sandwich on its plate and dabs at his mouth with a napkin.

‘Yeah, I remember,’ he replies. ‘I used to hate being dragged along, and Iris cried every time because girls weren’t allowed to go.’

Gladiolus know he could at least  _ try _ to be civil, but where his father’s involved it’s next to impossible. Besides — Clarus wasn’t exactly  _ civil _ all those years ago when everything exploded.

‘Maybe it’s something you and Mr. Caleum could do together,’ Iris suggests brightly, ploughing along as though unaware of the new bout of tension settling over her company. ‘No talking about work, though. I know what you’re both like.’

Clarus chuckles; it sounds forced.

‘Maybe.’

_ Just a little while longer, _ Gladiolus tells himself.  _ Just finish your food and you can go. _

If he doesn’t strangle the guy first.

He’s still not even sure what Clarus hoped to achieve with this little reunion. If he’s planning on making an apology — on making amends — he’s doing a piss-poor job of it. If he brought Gladiolus here just to criticise him like the good old days, it’s a wasted trip for all of them.

‘I’m thinking of getting a dog,’ Iris blurts. ‘Maybe. I don’t think we’re supposed to get pets in our complex, but Lia found a really cute condo for sublet where they’re, like, super easygoing.’

Clarus wrinkles his nose.

‘A condo, Iris, really?’ he says. ‘Why don’t you set your sights a little higher? I’m sure you could afford to buy once you’re on a consultant’s salary.’

‘That’s, like, waaaay down the line, Dad,’ Iris says, shaking her head so thoroughly that her hair whips about her face. ‘This place actually works out a little cheaper than the apartment, anyways, and it’s rent-controlled since the landlord owns it outright. Plus it’s in a nice part of town, and there’s a pool!’

‘A  _ communal _ pool,’ Clarus counters, sternly. ‘I’m just not sure it’s such a good idea to move from where you are currently. Maybe we can discuss it some other time.’

Gladiolus feels a nerve twitch at his temple. He hadn’t realised he’d been balling his hands into fists; it’s only when he feels the bite of nails into his flesh that he recognises the anger coursing through his system.

He wants to launch across the table and sock Clarus — wants to grab him and shake him and call him out for the exact bullshit he put Gladiolus through when  _ he _ was Iris’s age. Instead, Gladiolus clenches his jaw, breathes in slowly through his nose, and sends a stony glare in his father’s direction.

‘She’s not a little kid,’ he says, every word dripping with the effort of keeping his tone level. ‘She pays her own pay. Ain’t nothin’ to  _ discuss _ about that.’

Here’s where shit would normally hit the fan: where Clarus would get that cold look on his face like he’s speaking to the most insignificant speck of human trash, and you’d know you were in for it.

But it never comes. Instead, he sighs, and the look leaves his face as though he’s just too weary to keep it up.

‘You’re right,’ Clarus says. It sounds like it pains him to admit it. ‘If you know what you want, Iris, then it’s not my place to dissuade you.’

From the look on Iris’s face, it seems she’s the only one more shocked by this development than Gladiolus. She almost looks like she doesn’t trust herself to believe her own eyes and ears; like she expects Clarus to turn around and take it all back.

After a few moments of awkward, painful silence, she blinks and smiles timidly.

‘Uh, thank you, Daddy,’ she says. ‘I’ll keep you updated.’

As the table returns to its prior silence, interrupted only by the tiny  _ clinks _ of cutlery against porcelain, Gladiolus can’t help but feel that in some small way, something has changed for the better.

* * *

‘Gladiolus.’

It’s barely moments after Iris went her own way, hugging Gladiolus goodbye; without her for a buffer, he can do little more than freeze at the sound of his name in his father’s voice and hope that somehow, some way, the problem will go away on its own.

‘Gladiolus. Son.’

_ Damnit. _

He doesn’t turn around; stands with his back turned, staring blindly at the human traffic on the sidewalk ahead of him, and waits for the click of Clarus’s leather shoes to catch up to him.

‘Thank you for coming along today,’ Clarus says.

He has to step around some other pedestrians to get in front. Something about it gives Gladiolus the smallest rush of satisfaction.

‘You know what they say,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Never say no to a free lunch.’

Actually, that’s what Prompto says — the phrase, which Clarus used to drill into him once upon a time, is  _ There’s no such thing as a free lunch. _ It’s never felt more true than right now, as Gladiolus waits for the inevitable.

‘Quite,’ Clarus replies.

The silence goes on for long enough that Gladiolus wonders if maybe he has it all wrong. If maybe, for once, his old man just wanted to spend some quality time with his last remaining family.

_ Fat chance of that. _

‘The… friend, Iris mentioned,’ Clarus says, stumbling over the words as though they’re splinters of glass on his tongue. ‘Things are going well?’

Gladiolus wants to retort that it really is nothing — that Iggy, or Ignis, is just some random guy who happened to breeze into his life, only to breeze out again just as quickly. There’s something that stops him, though; some pathetic, needy little remnant from his adolescence when he’d try so hard to impress his dad, to catch his attention, to earn the tiniest scrap of affection.

Clarus might be an awful man and an even worse father, but he’s trying. That’s… something, right?

If the whole angel-on-one-shoulder-and-devil-on-the-other cliche were real, they’d be at war in each of Gladiolus’s ears right now, pulling him this way and that. He knows what he  _ should _ do, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach keeps him rooted to the spot.

‘Why did you invite me today?’ he asks. He folds his arms across his front, like some barrier between the two of them. ‘No bullshit, all right? I wanna know the real reason.’

Clarus’s sigh is slow and weary, and there’s one of those rare moments where he looks every minute of his age — every etched-in wrinkle, every silvery grey hair glinting in the light in spite of the cropped style.

‘I know how badly Iris wants for us to be a family again,’ he says. ‘But I know things will never go back to how they used to be, and I know that it’s partly my fault.’

_ Partly. _ Gladiolus could laugh, but it’s taking every bit of resolve in him to rein the anger in.

‘I don’t expect you to forgive me,’ Clarus continues. ‘I’ve stopped believing I deserve it. I just hope that perhaps… Perhaps we might be able to start working toward healing those old wounds.’

He sounds like a page straight out of a self-help book, gods above. Gladiolus wonders if he were the one to pick it out, or if Iris nudged it in his direction in yet another bid to rebuild bridges that were never hers to mend.

_ ‘Wounds?’ _ Gladiolus echoes. He doesn’t bother to keep the anger from its voice, letting it seethe through him. ‘What, you got some wounds you wanna talk about? Please, tell me how  _ traumatic _ it was to have to disown your ungrateful  _ disappointment _ of a son because he fell in love with a guy.’

‘That’s not—’ Clarus blurts, his eyes flashing. He catches himself; shakes his head, takes a breath, and starts over. ‘I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about you.’ 

Gladiolus releases his arms from around himself and puts his hands up, palms upwards.

‘So talk,’ he says sharply. ‘Only quit bullshitting and get to the point. I came here today ‘cause of  _ Iris, _ not out of loyalty to you.’

His words are meant to wound, but they elicit no reaction from Clarus. The man moves closer, lowering his voice to keep from being overheard by passersby; it’s hardly an intimate setting but the proximity makes Gladiolus’s skin prickle uncomfortably.

‘I’m sorry,’ Clarus says. ‘I’m sorry about how I handled things. I’m sorry your relationship with that… with  _ Pelna _ didn’t work out. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.’

Gladiolus expects more — some cop-out, some woe-is-me bullshit about how Clarus is the victim here, but it never comes.

‘I  _ thought _ I was doing what was best for you,’ Clarus adds, and there’s genuine remorse in his voice — in his eyes. ‘I thought I was teaching you a valuable lesson. I realise now that I was wrong; that if gods forbid the worst happened, I could never forgive myself for how I treated you.’

They’re on a busy street just after lunch; people mill around heading back to work, or returning to a day of retail therapy. A couple cars honk in the street, impatient to get going in the midday gridlock. It’s a flurry of noise, a press of bodies, yet Gladiolus barely notices any of it.

This isn’t the apology he hoped for, played out over and over in his head for years since they fell out; he’s not even sure it’s the apology he deserves.

But it’s something.

‘I want to put this right, Gladiolus,’ Clarus says softly. ‘If you’ll let me. Please — let me try.’

_ No, _ a voice says, at the fore of Gladiolus’s thoughts. It’s hot and angry: the embodiment of all the hurt and betrayal he’s been hanging onto after all this time.

Yet there’s another voice, quieter and somehow more insistence, threading its way through his subconscious.

_ Give him a chance, _ it says.  _ Let him be the dad you should’ve had. _

Gladiolus feels cold and small. He feels just like his younger self, after Clarus found out that he’d broken the engagement off; terrified and guilty, so desperately ashamed of letting his hero down.

He knows that if he gives Clarus a shot, he’s doing it as much for the old man’s benefit as his own — that any forgiveness will be a weight off his father’s shoulders, absolution for his misdeeds. Somehow, though, it’s more than just that: it’s a chance for Gladiolus to let himself off the hook, too. To stop feeling so damned  _ angry _ all the time. To move on. To heal.

‘All right,’ he murmurs. His voice gets lost in the hum of the busy street; he sees Clarus strain to hear, so he tries again: ‘All right. I’ll give you a chance.’

Relief floods his father’s face; for a moment he thinks the man might rush in to embrace him, and Gladiolus recoils at the mere thought of the contact. When Clarus extends a hand for him to shake, he forces his limbs to unfreeze and accepts the gesture.

It’s just a handshake, but it feels odd. Like he’s not in his own skin. He realises this is the first time they’ve touched in years.

‘Thank you, Gladiolus,’ Clarus says. ‘I promise — I won’t let you down.’

That remains to be seen, Gladiolus decides, but as he watches Clarus turn to go, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from his chest. It’s not gone entirely, of course — he doesn’t know if it ever will be — but it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

The muggy heat of the summer in Insomnia has given way to a damp, miserable fall. Buildings that once shone in the sunlight are drab and grey now, and the streets are a sea of umbrellas in black, bright colours few and far between.

Citadel HQ, however, is still a beacon of glinting glass and chrome: a neofuturistic colossus piercing the cloud-darkened skyline.

Gladiolus doesn’t want to be back here. Wouldn’t be at all, if he hadn’t have to. As usual, in anything where his father is remotely involved, Iris had a hand in him winding up here today. They’re having takeout and watching movies at his place tonight; she dropped by their father’s office to pick up some things for him and, naturally, didn’t bring an umbrella — so it’s falling to Gladiolus to swoop in and save the day in true big bro style.

At least he doesn’t have to go inside, he tells himself. It could always be worse.

He paces back and forth outside with his umbrella held over his head, ignoring the pointed stares of the doorman as he goes. Citadel is just one of the elite firms with offices here in the financial district, catering to the rich and famous; in another life, Gladiolus might have been one of the well-dressed men in crisp suits breezing by, speaking rapidly into Bluetooth earpieces as they summon company cars.

Instead, Gladiolus sticks out like a sore thumb with his tied-back hair, leather jacket and threadbare jeans.

He slips his phone out of his pocket and, for the third time, checks the clock. Iris said she’d be down twenty minutes ago, and if he knows her at all she’s probably gotten herself distracted catching up with all the members of Clarus’s staff who’ve known her since she was in diapers.

He sighs. His jeans are damp from the knees down, courtesy of the wind sweeping rain at a diagonal angle; even though his leather boots keep his feet dry, his toes are chilled to the bone.

Fuck it. He can wait inside for a little while — it’s not like anybody will remember him in there.

The doorman eyes him over but lets him in nevertheless, and Gladiolus wonders if he’s on some sort of  _ list _ of heavily vetted individuals privileged enough to even make it past the front door. In the brief time he worked with Citadel, he remembers only one occasion when somebody had to be thrown out: a former employee who came in red-faced from day-drinking and ranting about how he’d have everybody’s jobs when he was done with the place.

The inside, somehow, is even more intimidating than the exterior, none of its lustre having faded in the years since Gladiolus last walked through the doors. The atrium runs up the entire height of the building, all forty floors, and when Gladiolus cranes his neck upward as he had once done years ago, he can see people scurrying around like tiny ants through the glass walls of upper levels.

He doesn’t bother heading for the front desk — the receptionists there look younger than him, probably new hires, and he’d just have to explain who his father is when they started asking. He makes a beeline for the waiting area instead and picks a seat as close to the entrance as he can get, feeling the seat creak awkwardly beneath his weight.

Beside him, his umbrella drips onto the floor. With a wince, he uses his boot to nudge it out of view beneath his chair.

It’s late enough in the day that it might be considered quitting time, but still there are people milling about, hard at work. Gladiolus wonders if the grunts are getting paid to stay after-hours to finish up their supervisors’ tasks; he doubts it.

He’s there another ten minutes before impatience starts to set in. He grabs his phone, gets to his feet, and paces while he waits for the call to connect.

‘I’m sorry!’ Iris says, as soon as she answers. ‘I  _ swear _ I’m on my way. Gimme five minutes.’

‘All right,’ Gladiolus grumbles. ‘I’m in the atrium. You take any longer and I’m goin’ without you.’

She says something bright and cheery — and probably more than a little bratty — in response, but he doesn’t catch it. He hangs up on reflex, in the middle of whatever Iris had been saying; his attention’s trained on a figure, clad in business casual, marching straight for him. 

_ Ignis. _

‘What the  _ hell _ are you doing here?’ Ignis hisses, as soon as he’s in earshot. He snatches Gladiolus by the arm before he can get a word in by way of reply, steering him to a quiet corner of the waiting area. ‘Are you  _ following _ me?’

‘What?’

Gladiolus can only blink at the guy in confusion. After their last parting a couple of months ago — and after several failed trips to Fascination Street — he’d resigned himself to maybe never seeing Ignis, or  _ Iggy, _ again. Now here he is, wondering what  _ Gladiolus _ is doing here?

‘My father works here,’ Gladiolus retorts.

‘Your father,’ Ignis echoes, with a sniff.

‘Yeah.’

‘Your father,’ Ignis says, ‘with whom you’re estranged?’

‘Yeah,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Or… was. It’s complicated. What are  _ you _ doin’ here?’

Ignis lets go of his arm, finally, and turns away with an exasperated sigh. He seems to have calmed somewhat, at least, although Gladiolus’s blood is still pumping from the initial confrontation.

‘I’m an accountant here,’ Ignis says, turning back. ‘Who’s your father?’

For a second, Gladiolus reels under the weight of it all. What are the odds, the absolutely astronomical odds, that the guy he wound up randomly hooking up with, wound up renting an apartment from — sort of — would be under his old man’s considerable payroll?

But then it clicks, and it all makes sense.  _ Noct. _ The strings Gladiolus suspected he’d had to pull to get a viewing at the apartment before it was even on the market.

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Gladiolus says, shaking his head in confusion. ‘Tell me you don’t know Noct.’

It’s Ignis’s turn, it seems, to be confused; he goes momentarily pale, and Gladiolus knows he’s struck gold.

‘Noct,’ Ignis says, ‘as in Noctis Caelum?’

‘Son of Regis Caelum,’ Gladiolus says. ‘CEO of Citadel. Yeah, that Noct.’

Ignis’s eyes narrow, and Gladiolus imagines he can see the pieces falling into place in the guy’s head, just as they had in his own. He knows, now, that there was very little  _ chance _ to any of it — except, maybe, for their fateful run-in at Fascination Street.

‘Who is your father?’ Ignis asks again, slowly.

Gladiolus huffs out a sigh. Much as he’d like to, there’s not much more room for him to tiptoe around the issue.

‘Clarus Amicitia,’ he says.

And there it is — the dawning of understanding in Ignis’s eyes. He turns away, pressing his hand to his mouth, and when he turns back he looks even more pale than before.

‘Amicitia,’ he replies. ‘Of course. I thought… I thought it was a coincidence.’

Gladiolus throws up his hands in defeat.

‘You got me,’ he says dryly. ‘Estranged son of the COO. Black sheep of the Amicitia clan.’

There’s a chair a few feet behind Ignis; somehow, instinctively, he backs up and sits neatly into it, covering his mouth with his hand once more.

Gladiolus can only wonder at what might be going on in his head — if Ignis is running over the weight of the fact that he slept with the son of the second-in-command where he works, or if he’s piecing together the information Gladiolus told him that night in the stairwell at the apartment.

‘How’ve you…’ Gladiolus says, trailing off and swallowing. ‘How’ve you been?’

Someday, he’ll probably list it up pretty high on the dumbest things he’s ever said to former lovers. For now, he’s at a loss over what else he could possibly say.

Ignis’s head snaps towards him. He expects anger in those green eyes, but instead there’s only weariness. Defeat.

‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, frankly,’ Ignis says quietly.

Slowly, tentatively, Gladiolus moves to the seats and lowers himself into the one two over from Ignis. It feels like a safe distance between him, yet he can’t shake the feeling that Ignis might just get up and bolt at any moment.

‘I looked for you,’ Gladiolus says. ‘At the bar. Crowe said you hadn’t been around in weeks. Was gonna call you, but I figured maybe you…’

_ Maybe you didn’t want to hear from me. _

‘I stopped going,’ Ignis replies, in a flat tone. ‘It… didn’t feel right any more.’

Gladiolus can feel the words left unsaid: it didn’t feel right  _ because of him. _ If he hadn’t pushed so damn much, they never would’ve seen each other after their first tryst; he never would’ve said all that shit about Pelna that night, sending Ignis off in a tailspin.  _ Iggy _ would still be going there, happily hooking up with who-the-fuck-ever caught his eye.

Even thinking about it stings.

‘I wanna—’ Gladiolus blurts. His voice is thick; he clears his throat and tries again, keeping his voice down this time. ‘I hate that we left off like we did.’

Two seats over, Ignis shrugs: the slightest rise and fall of his shoulders.

In Gladiolus’s head he runs over the potential scenarios — asking to catch up, to get a chance to talk properly about everything. With how they parted, though, he can’t see Ignis saying yes. Not in a million years.

He keeps the invitation to himself, biting it down; swallows every urge to practically  _ beg _ the guy to give him another shot.

Gladiolus had his chance, and he messed it up. It’s for the best, really.

‘Awright, well,’ he says, glancing awkwardly down at his boots. ‘It was good seein’ you.’

Another shrug from Ignis, and a whole lot of painful silence.

With a sniff, Gladiolus stands to go — but Ignis’s voice rings out before he can get very far.

‘Wait.’

Gladiolus freezes in his tracks, his eyes seeking out Ignis’s where the other man has risen to his feet in turn. Even though they’re a few seats apart, Ignis has his hand stretched out like he wants to make contact, like he wants to bridge the distance between them.

Gladiolus swallows and waits; watches Ignis’s jaw flex while he struggles to spit out the words

‘Gladdy!’

It’s like a gunshot, shattering the moment; Gladiolus glances over his shoulder to see Iris marching towards him across the atrium, and by the time he turns back to Ignis he finds the guy cold and withdrawn, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Ignis says sharply.

He’s gone then, taking long, brisk strides as though there’s a fire lit underneath him.

Slowly, reluctantly, Gladiolus turns around, toward the sound of sneakers squeaking across the polished floor.

‘I’m  _ sooooo _ sorry,’ Iris says.

She’s struggling to keep the strap of her laptop bag on her shoulder, since she has her hands full with a heavy archive box; Gladiolus, on reflex, takes it from her grasp.

‘Ugh, I can’t believe it’s still so gross outside,’ she says with a whine. ‘You brought an umbrella, right?’

Distractedly, Gladiolus glances along the row of seats until he spots where he’d first sat down. Sure enough the umbrella is still there, in a sizeable pool of water. He doesn’t much feel like walking in the rain, though, especially with a box of his father’s paperwork to lug around.

‘Screw it,’ he mumbles. ‘Let’s call a cab.’

* * *

They need to do this more often, he decides, as he tops up Iris’s glass with a fresh helping of soda. This is one of only a handful of times she’s been around to his place after they finally made plans for her to come by and see it, and by Gladiolus’s estimation it’s an element sorely missing from his life.

His phone buzzes against his thigh as he’s stretching over to put the soda bottle on the table; with a thrill of excitement he expects it to be Ignis, but it’s just Noct.

_ Up to anything? _ the message says.

_ Movie night with Iris, _ he replies.

_ Awesome. Mind if we gatecrash? _

He doesn’t need to ask who the  _ we _ in this arrangement is; Noctis and Prompto have always been joined at the hip, no less so now that they’re sharing an apartment.

Part of Gladiolus is tempted to keep tonight as just a family thing, but he can’t quite resist the urge to confront Noct about the whole Ignis situation.

‘You mind if Noct and Prompto come over?’ he asks, glancing toward his sister.

She is, predictably, cheerful as she responds.

‘Oh, awesome!’ she says. ‘It’s been way too long.’

_ Sure, _ he texts back.  _ But bring booze. You’re gonna need it. _

His friend’s response is quick and, he thinks, appropriate.

_ Uh-oh. _

* * *

Prompto’s choice in alcohol tends towards the colourful and sugar-infused; Noct’s, however, seldom disappoints. They come bearing a bag laden down with what Gladiolus imagines was a joint effort, a combination of amber-tinted liquor and rainbow-hued alcopops that hurt his teeth just looking at them.

Iris all but strangles them by way of greeting, and Gladiolus watches with a grin as he sets the bottles out in the kitchenette.

‘Did you get taller?’ Prompto teases, as Iris finally lets go of Noctis.

‘Well,  _ you _ definitely didn’t,’ Iris retorts, poking her tongue out.

‘Hey,’ Gladiolus interjects. ‘No murders, please. I’m gonna want my safety deposit back someday.’

They each find their spots around the laptop where it’s set up on the coffee table, and Gladiolus can’t help but note with a little jolt of surprise that Iris moves not to her original seat, but to a spot beside Noctis.

‘How’s school?’ Noct asks, seemingly oblivious. ‘You’re back for the fall, right?’

Iris nods brightly.

‘It’s pretty great,’ she replies. ‘We’re starting at the hospital soon so it’s a lot of hard work, but it’s  _ so _ worth it.’

‘Yeah,’ Noct says. ‘I bet.’

Gladiolus grabs fresh glasses for everybody, setting them out on the table. On his next trip, he returns with a selection of booze, handing the brightest, bluest alcopop he can find to Prompto, who accepts it with a crooked grin.

‘So, Noct,’ Gladiolus says innocently, finding a spot at the edge of the couch. ‘You never told me how you managed to get me this place.’

When Noct looks at him, his blue eyes are guileless. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s going on.

‘I didn’t?’ Noctis says. ‘Huh. I’unno, I guess it didn’t seem like a big deal.’

Gladiolus turns toward his friend, eyes narrowed. Now  _ that _ smells a lot like bullshit.

‘You find an apartment through somebody who works for my old man,’ he says, ‘and you don’t think it’s a big deal?’

He sees Noct’s eyes widen and he knows, without a doubt, that Noct has figured it out. The guy shifts uncomfortably where he sits between Gladiolus and Iris, reaching forward to grab himself a drink.

‘I mean,’ Noct says hurriedly, scrambling to get the bottle open.  _ ‘Technically _ it’s his uncle’s place, not his. And  _ technically _ he doesn’t work  _ for _ your dad, since he’s in accounting.’

‘Wait.’

Iris leans forward on the couch to look at Gladiolus, at a loss.

‘Wanna clue me in here, guys?’ she says. ‘I’m so confused.’

‘Me too,’ Prompto chimes in from his chair.

‘My landlord,’ Gladiolus supplies. ‘His nephew works for Citadel. Must’ve been how  _ Noct _ here found out about the vacancy.’

As he speaks, he claps his arm down across Noct’s shoulders and feels his friend flinch slightly under the weight of it. Gladiolus opens his mouth to say more, but Iris gets there first, jumping up excitedly.

‘Oh, I  _ knew _ I recognised him!’

All eyes are on her now, and Gladiolus feels dread worm its way into his gut.

‘The guy at the hospital,’ Iris says. ‘I  _ completely _ forgot about him until today. That guy you were talking to in the atrium, right? I thought you said you two weren’t a thing.’

Deep within Gladiolus, he feels his innards contort themselves into knots. It’s too late to take it all back now; it only takes a few beats for the proverbial light bulb to go off over Noctis’s head beside him.

‘Wait,’ Noct says. ‘You and— and  _ Ignis? _ No  _ way.’ _

‘Oh wait!’ Prompto blurts. ‘When you ditched us for a booty call?  _ That _ guy?’

Gladiolus groans and sinks his face into his hands. He wonders how far he’d get across the room and out the door before one of them caught up with him. Running away from a lease seems preferable right now to dealing with this can of worms.

‘Gladdy!’ Iris all but shouts, her voice at an ear-piercing pitch. ‘I  _ knew _ you were hooking up.’ 

The room’s bursting with everybody’s competing voices, and the apartment that never seemed too small for Gladiolus’s purposes is suddenly very  _ tiny _ and very  _ cramped. _ Maybe he could throw everybody out, buy himself some time…

‘Hey,’ he barks, cutting across the din. ‘It ain’t like that, I already told you. Today was the first time we’ve seen each other in months.’

‘Oh,’ Iris says. She’s clearly disappointed, her face falling. ‘That sucks. I thought he was cute.’

Gladiolus hopes, in the strained silence that follows, that maybe the subject will finally drop. He leans over to the laptop and hits play on the movie to pick up where they left off. Lifts his drink to his lips, appreciating the sting of the liquor as it hits his throat.

Five minutes have barely passed before Prompto pipes up.

‘So, you gonna tell us what happened?’

Gladiolus shoots him a look and the blond withers beneath it, trying in vain to hide behind the slender mass of his alcopop.

‘Well, you were talking to him today,’ Iris says. ‘So that’s good, right?’

Gladiolus heaves a sigh of frustration and drops his head back against the couch behind him. They’re really not going to let it go, are they?

‘Since you’re all incapable of mindin’ your own business,’ he says, moving to give each of them a pointed glance, ‘we didn’t leave things on such a good note. So go look for your gossip someplace else.’

His burly response seems to shut everybody up for the time being, at least, leaving him to watch the movie in peace. He can feel tension in the air that he knows won’t go away by itself any time soon, but he ignores it and busies himself with his drink. Maybe if he gets  _ just _ drunk enough, he can forget Ignis ever came up in the first place.

Beside him, Noctis seems to have shrunk into himself, like he wants to disappear between the gaps in the cushions; in his own chair, Prompto seems similarly uncomfortable.

On the other side of Noct, Iris seems like she’s about to burst.

She looks innocent when he shoots a glance her way, but that just means she’s  _ definitely _ up to something — like when she was little and she’d creep downstairs when she was supposed to be asleep, making up some excuse about nightmares just so they could hang out together for a little while and watch shitty late-night infomercials together.

‘What?’ he says sharply. ‘What is it?’

She gives an exaggerated shrug.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she replies. ‘Just wondering why you don’t call him.’

Gladiolus sighs and downs his drink. He’s too sober for this shit.

_ ‘Because,’ _ he says, pointedly, ‘it ain’t happening.’

‘How will you know if you don’t try?’

He shoots a fiery glare her way, and she looks more innocent than ever, like she knows she can whittle him down if she just keeps pushing. When he groans and sits back in his seat, he sees Prompto looking at him in a way that’s guaranteed to spell trouble.

‘You got somethin’ to say, blondie?’ Gladiolus grumbles.

‘I mean,’ Prompto says meekly. ‘She’s got a  _ point…’ _

Gladiolus is pretty sure, as he covers his face with his hand, that this is his own personal brand of hell. If Iris has Prompto on her side, it’s only a matter of time before Noct’s in on it too.

Rather than argue — he’s never going to win, not when Iris has her heart set on something, thanks to that stubborn Amicitia streak that she seemed to inherit twice over — he shakes his head and pours himself another glass of booze. A big one, this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my original outline, this should be the final chapter. Obviously it's not ;) After it became clear that they'd have to tackle the elephant in the room that was _Pelna_ , I figured these boys would need a little more time to wrap things up.
> 
> Not long to go now!
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

Pacing, pacing, pacing, while the deep metallic ringing sounds in Gladiolus’s ear from where he holds his phone. He’s starting to think he should hang up, that his call is being screened, when Ignis finally answers.

‘Hello?’

There’s a question in Ignis’s tone, but it’s not like he doesn’t already have Gladiolus’s number — that means Ignis isn’t wondering  _ who’s _ calling, but  _ why. _

Ten seconds in, and it’s something Gladiolus has started to question, too.

‘Hey,’ Gladiolus says. ‘This a bad time?’

It’s a little after most of the workers should have left Citadel HQ for the day; he doesn’t have long before he starts his overnight shift at the factory where he’s been working security for the past few weeks, but he doesn’t know when else he can catch Ignis.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and Gladiolus waits for it — the polite letdown. Other plans, probably. Just running off to do something. Not a good time.

He tries not to hold his breath while he waits, but it’s a close thing.

‘No,’ Ignis replies softly, after what feels like an eternity. ‘I’m free to talk.’

_ Good, _ Gladiolus thinks — but he’s already forgotten all the carefully-planned words that he spent so long running over in his head. He’ll just have to wing it.

‘It was good seeing you again,’ he says. ‘Even if, uh. It kinda took me by surprise.’

He thinks — maybe — he hears a slight chuckle on the other end.

‘I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you at my place of work,’ Ignis says wryly. ‘I must apologise for assuming that you’d tracked me down there.’

It may have been a few days ago, but the interaction is still fresh in Gladiolus’s mind; he can clearly picture the irritation and fear that had flashed across Ignis’s face when their eyes had met.

‘S’all right,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Honest mistake.’

There’s a pause on both sides, and Gladiolus kicks the toe of his boot idly against the floorboards beneath him. He knows he should just spit it out and get it over with, but now that he’s got Ignis on the line he feels small and unsure, like a kid on his first day of school. He might have known Ignis once — or thought he did, in his own wat — but he doesn’t any more.

‘Did you, ah,’ Ignis says, cutting across his thoughts. He gives an awkward little cough before he continues. ‘Did you have a problem with the flat?’

Figures, of course. Gladiolus finally works up the guts to get in touch, and Ignis assumes it’s about the apartment. It gives him an out, of course: make up some minor complaint as a justification for calling and put an end to this painfully awkward conversation before it has a chance to get any worse.

It’d be so easy, but it’d also be  _ giving up. _

‘No, actually uh,’ Gladiolus replies, ‘I was wonderin’ if you wanted to catch up over coffee. Never got a chance to apologise for what happened that night.’

He realises, as he waits for a response, that he’s holding his breath for real this time. Slowly, he lets it hiss out through his teeth.

‘Coffee?’ Ignis says. The word drips off his tongue like it’s foreign to him; maybe the thought of actually sitting down to talk is just so reprehensible that he can’t stomach it.

‘I mean,’ Gladiolus blurts, pre-empting Ignis’s response. ‘No pressure. Just putting it out there.’

He anticipates all the ways Ignis could — would — say no; they range from polite refusal to utter hatred. He wouldn’t blame the guy, really, after how everything ended.

There’s still a little, tiny part, buried deep within Gladiolus, that hopes and wishes and  _ prays _ that Ignis says yes.

‘I’m not—’

Gladiolus feels his heart drop, even as Ignis’s words cut off. There’s some muffled talking on the other end, words he can’t pick out — Ignis must still be at the office. Gladiolus is already steeling himself for rejection when Ignis’s voice comes back on, sounding vaguely exasperated.

‘Apologies,’ Ignis says. ‘I’m not free until noon on Friday. Would that be suitable for you?’

The weight of what Gladiolus had  _ thought _ was an incoming rejection presses so heavily on him that he almost doesn’t hear what Ignis actually says. By the time he processes it, he has to hurry to stammer out a reply.

‘U- uh, sure,’ he says. ‘Twelve. Works for me. Where’s best for you?’

There’s a rustling sound across the line, like papers being shuffled about; some more muffled talking, the urgency of which is clear even though the words themselves are inaudible. Gladiolus feels a pang of guilt — Ignis must be busier than he let on.

‘There’s a café near Citadel,’ Ignis says, finally. ‘Da Roberta. I trust you can find the address?’

Gladiolus resists the urge to remind Ignis that they live in the age of Moogle Maps, where virtually every address imaginable is available at the swipe of a finger.

‘Yeah, can do,’ he replies. ‘Guess I’ll… see you then.’

‘Indeed.’

Gladiolus’s ears are ringing when he hangs up. He still can’t shake the feeling that Ignis will call back and change his mind, that somehow he misunderstood the whole thing and Ignis’s words were actually a refusal. He can’t remember the last time he was so insecure about the whole dating thing — maybe with Pelna, but that was breaking new ground.

He realises, with a little jolt, that this kind of  _ is _ breaking new ground; other than Pelna there hasn’t really been anybody else. Not anybody that mattered.

He can’t dwell on it for too long — work calls. Still, even as he’s grabbing his things and heading out the door of his place, he’s plotting exactly what he’ll say on Friday. He knows that when the time comes, though, all of his carefully planned words will be mysteriously out of reach.

* * *

Da Roberta isn’t really the sort of place you’d expect a Citadel worker to frequent: instead of the utilitarian interiors and uniforms of the coffee shop chains known across the world, it affects a more cosy, personal atmosphere. It’s busy, though, and when Gladiolus peers through the sheet glass window, shielding his eyes against the glare, he’s dismayed to see that all the tables are taken.

He’s a couple minutes early — which he’d  _ thought _ was a little over-eager — and he’s wondering if he should’ve dropped by even earlier just to grab a table when he spots Ignis on his way down the sidewalk, seemingly unflustered. He’s thrown a jacket over his work clothes, although  _ thrown _ hardly seems the right turn of phrase; it’s immaculately tailored, the collar pulled high at his throat to ward off the chill in the air.

Gladiolus doesn’t know whether to walk over and greet Ignis or wait. In the end he settles for something midway between, wheeling his way over to the far corner of the coffee shop’s storefront where he stops and waits with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

‘S’full,’ he says, when Ignis is within earshot.

The other man inclines his head ever so slightly. He doesn’t halt; instead he walks by Gladiolus’s shoulder, clearly intending for him to follow.

‘It’s always packed,’ Ignis says, as he holds the door open. ‘A shame, really, but their coffee is rather worth the sacrifice of ordering it to-go.’

There’s a quiet hum inside — an undercurrent of hushed conversations and the soft clink of cups being set down on saucers. There’s music playing, but it’s so soft and intentionally unobtrusive that Gladiolus can’t quite pick out any discernible style.

The barista seems to recognise Ignis when he paces up to the counter, although he barely returns her warm greeting with much more than a polite smile. He orders a black coffee for himself, then turns to Gladiolus for his order; a little taken aback, Gladiolus asks for a cup of herbal with peppermint.

Once it’s all paid for — Ignis refuses any money Gladiolus tries to push his way — they take their drinks and go.

‘You didn’t need to pay, you know,’ Gladiolus chides stiffly as they venture outside. ‘I was the one who invited you.’

Ignis brushes him off with a shrug. They’re walking now, Gladiolus guesses; he has to stretch his legs to keep up with Ignis’s short, swift strides.

Their path takes them toward a small plaza half a block over from Citadel HQ, all minimalist concrete and steel, and perfectly manicured shrubbery. At the centre of it is a post-modern fountain bounded by benches, at one of which Ignis takes his seat. Carefully, Gladiolus perches himself about a foot away, clutching his drink between his hands.

‘Forgot this was here,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Nice place to spend your lunch hour.’

Ignis sniffs.

‘Quite,’ he says. ‘I’ve not often got the time to leave the office, but it lets me clear my head when I do.’

Why isn’t it surprising that Ignis is the type to work through lunch? If Gladiolus didn’t know better, he’d say there was nothing more to the guy than the carefully-constructed image he veils himself in — a million miles from the  _ Iggy _ Gladiolus got to know at Fascination Street.

What would it take to get him to let loose again? To chip away at all those layers he carefully shrouds himself in, even just a little?

Gladiolus brings his cup to his lips and takes a sip from it. He can’t speak about the coffee, but their herbal is nice at least. While he tries to figure out where to start, he looks down at the lid of the cup where it has a little smiley face and the words  _ I’m bamboo! Please compost me! _

‘So what’s it like?’ he asks, speaking down at the to-go cup. ‘Working for Citadel?’

He hears the soft sound of Ignis slurping from his own drink and tries not to look up at the guy’s lips where they caress the brim of the cup.

‘The company where I used to work was smaller,’ Ignis says after a pause. ‘Far more disorganised. There’s something satisfying about working somewhere that you can look up a decade’s worth of returns at the touch of a button.’

Gladiolus nods thoughtfully. It sounds boring to him, but then he never took to Citadel life even back when he’d been so sure that his future had been laid out for him. Freelance security might not be predictable, but that’s a part of the charm, in a way.

‘Can’t say I can relate,’ he murmurs. ‘I was in way over my head when I worked there.’

Ignis is silent; when Gladiolus dares to look at him, he’s staring off at the street, his eyes not quite in focus.

‘Listen, uh,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I know you gotta get back to the office, so I won’t keep you here all day. I just wanted to… Guess I wanted to apologise for dumpin’ everything on you that night. Y’know. The Pelna stuff.’

Ignis’s shoulders rise, pulling up close to his ears. It’s hard to tell if he’s cold or tense.

‘Long-term relationships come with their baggage,’ he says distantly. ‘It’s understandable.’

Gladiolus can’t help but huff out a sigh. He’s still not sure this meetup wasn’t a mistake.

‘That’s the thing, though,’ he says. He twists, angling himself toward Ignis; the movement draws the other man’s eyes to him at last. ‘Yeah, I got baggage — but it ain’t all about Pelna.’

Ignis watches him guardedly. It seems Gladiolus finally has his full attention.

‘My kid sister, she wanted me to give my old man another chance,’ Gladiolus says. ‘He says he’s tryin’ to make amends, and fuck if I know if there’s anything he can do to make up for the past few years but I realised somethin’ when we got talking again.

‘After he threw me out on my ass, Pel was all I had. I thought bein’ with him meant finally figuring out who I was, but it was like… It was like he was another crutch. I walked away from everything my father ever wanted for me, and Pelna was like the… Whaddya call it? The opposite?’

Ignis clears his throat delicately.

‘Antithesis?’ he suggests.

Gladiolus nods.

‘Right,’ he replies. ‘The antithesis to all that. And I thought being with Pel meant being happy, but I never realised I didn’t know what the hell I was doing all that time. Like I was just letting him lead the way. You know?’

When he hazards a glance at Ignis, Gladiolus finds him listening along intently, although his expression suggests he doesn’t  _ know _ what Gladiolus is rambling on about in the least.

Gladiolus sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a point to all of this, and he knows he needs to get to it soon.

‘I thought,’ he says, ‘that being with Pelna was proving my old man wrong. Showin’ him that all the bullshit he said about how I’d never be happy, about how I was throwing my life away, that it was all wrong.’

He looks warily at Ignis, like he’s waiting for a signal to continue — some sign that  _ any _ of what he’s saying makes sense. Ignis’s green eyes are unreadable behind the slight sheen of his glasses.

Ignis lifts his coffee delicately to his lips, averting his glance as he drinks from it.

‘I suppose I understand,’ he says, a beat after he swallows. ‘You were relying on everything working out with him, so that it hadn’t all been for nothing.’

‘Exactly,’ Gladiolus says. ‘When things ended, it felt like my old man’d been right all along.’

Ignis nods thoughtfully, his glance still turned away.

‘And how do you feel now?’ he asks quietly.

Gladiolus sighs and slumps against the arm of the bench.  _ That’s _ the million dollar question.

‘I feel like I was just a dumb kid when me ‘n Pel hooked up,’ he says, shaking his head wryly. He can still remember how he thought he had it all figured out back then, only to find out just how wrong he had it time and time again. ‘He taught me a lot, I’ll admit that. But… we weren’t right for each other. It was never gonna work out.’

He can feel the tightness in his throat as he admits it — as he lets everything flood in that he’s worked so hard to hold at bay. The truth is, he was crushed when Pelna left him. So convinced that he’d never be whole again that he’d never really stopped to process what it all  _ meant. _ When Iggy came along, it had all been such a whirlwind, such a distraction from that constant  _ ache, _ but he still hadn’t taken the time to think about how he felt about it all.

He sips his tea, barely tasting it, and tips his head back to look toward the sky. Grey clouds roil overhead; it’ll probably rain soon.

‘I wasn’t ready for anything when I met you,’ he says. When he turns to glance at Ignis to try to gauge his reaction, but Ignis’s expression betrays very little. ‘And maybe I’m not ready yet. But… I’unno about you, but I think some things are worth waiting for.’

He watches Ignis still; watches him turn slowly, hesitantly meeting Gladiolus’s glance. This whole thing would be a lot easier if the guy ever let any damned emotion show on his face, but he’s just as unreadable as ever.

‘So,’ Ignis says slowly, ‘I wait and see if you’re still interested in a year?’

When he puts it that way, it sounds like shit. Gladiolus snorts and looks to see if Ignis is kidding, but that cool facade is still in place making it impossible to gauge how he feels.

‘No,’ Gladiolus retorts. ‘Nothin’ like that. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was amazing, but I feel like I don’t even know you — so we take a little while and we  _ get _ to know each other. Meet over coffee. Dinner sometime, maybe. And if we still…’

He pauses, looking for the words. He never really got this far in the speech he’d rehearsed, but then he’s been winging it pretty much from the start.

‘If we’re  _ both _ still interested,’ he finishes, ‘then we see where it goes.’

He returns his attention to his drink to give Ignis a little time to mull everything over. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to all of his father’s attempts at grooming him for the business world — he might’ve been able to make a half-decent pitch then.

A drop of rain splashes the bridge of his nose, cold and hard. He swears and glances up in time for another drop to hit his cheek and roll down into his beard.

It starts out with a few meagre droplets, but soon it’s a torrential downpour and he barely has time to react. Ignis is already leaping to his feet, yanking his collar as high as it will go, futile as the effort is.

‘You should get back to the office,’ Gladiolus says as he stands, raising his voice to be heard over the thunder of water against concrete. ‘You don’t need to give me an answer now. Or ever.’

Ignis’s eyes meet his again and there’s something there, something unguarded and forlorn, something that makes Gladiolus’s chest ache. Whatever it means, whatever’s going on behind Ignis’s green eyes, he seems reluctant to share it — although the slightest movement draws Gladiolus’s glance down to Ignis’s hand where it twitches at his side, the tiniest indication of an internal struggle.

Gladiolus is still looking down at that hand, at the long, slender fingers, when Ignis steps forward suddenly and closes the distance between them. His hand comes up and slips into Gladiolus’s hair, knotting through the wet, tangled strands and using them as leverage to pull him close.

The rain’s so cold and icy it tears right through to the bone, but Ignis’s lips are hot and needy when they meet Gladiolus’s, his tongue eager and warm. In defiance of the downpour, Gladiolus feels his skin burn beneath the layers of his clothes; he tosses his cup aside and uses both hands to grip at Ignis’s jacket, pulling him close, closer,  _ not close enough. _

His cock’s rigid in the confines of his jeans and he feels Ignis grind his hips against it, wanton and careless, heedless of anybody who might chance to walk by. It’s all so  _ good _ and  _ dizzying _ that Gladiolus feels like he might lose his mind if he doesn’t get some sort of release.

Ignis pulls away, though, and he’s gasping for breath, his glasses all fogged up by the warmth of their kiss, droplets obscuring the lenses.

He looks like he’s going to say something; instead he tugs at Gladiolus’s hair again just a little too hard and there’s another kiss, his jaw all but bashing into Gladiolus’s in his haste to get close.

‘All right,’ he says, against Gladiolus’s lips — like he can’t bear to be any farther than a hair’s breadth apart. ‘No sex. We get to know each other first.’

Involuntarily, Gladiolus lets out a rumbling chuckle. Ignis’s words say one thing, but the hardness jutting into Gladiolus’s thigh says another entirely.

‘You sure about that?’

Even through the fog of Ignis’s glasses, there’s the slightest hint of irritation in his eyes — but it’s short-lived, and he licks his lips as he pulls away as though savouring the taste on them.

He takes a moment to straighten himself out, setting his coffee aside on the bench with a little more care than Gladiolus had. He’s still soaked to the bone, but he looks somewhat more presentable. At least if you don’t look too hard between his legs, or at the pink tinge of his cheeks, his mouth.

‘No sex,’ Ignis says again, more firmly this time. ‘We’re grown men. I imagine we’re both entirely capable of showing a bit of restraint.’

There’s a beat, then his lips quirk into a wry smile. The guy’s  _ teasing. _ Gods damn him.

‘Get back to work,’ Gladiolus says, shaking his head with a grin. ‘Call me tonight and we can talk it over. F’you want.’

Ignis nods curtly, business once more.

‘Tonight, then,’ he says.

It’s the sort of rain that seems intent on coming down harder with the passing of each moment; Gladiolus isn’t getting any drier the longer he waits here, and he has to walk back to his place. He lifts his hand to wave before he goes — it seems like a pathetic way of parting, but after that kiss there’s nothing that seems good enough — and turns, ducking his head as he hurries away.

He’s barely around the block when he realises his phone’s vibrating angrily in his pocket, his thigh so chilled he hardly feels it. He has to fumble with wet fingers to slip it free; it takes three tries to answer.

‘Sunday evening,’ Ignis’s voice says, before he even has time to speak. ‘My flat. I’ll cook.’

The cold, the wet — it’s immaterial. There’s a warmth in Gladiolus’s core that leaches out through the rest of him with each pulse of his pounding heart.

‘Sounds good,’ he replies. ‘Text me your address?’

‘Certainly. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I’m good with everything.’

His heart is still thudding giddily in his chest after he hangs up; he keeps his phone in his hand as he jogs through the rain, waiting for the screen to light up with Ignis’s name once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we're getting somewhere!
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) | [tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

It’s a small mercy that the relentless autumn rain seems to have let up for the evening, leaving the air crisp and dry. It’s mild enough that Gladiolus has to shed his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder as he walks.

Ignis doesn’t live too far from Gladiolus’s part of town, in a neat little neighbourhood of brownstones. It’s nice, even by the yellow-tinted glow of street lamps — the kind of place you’d want to start a family — and Gladiolus feels just as out of place as he makes his way down the block as he did within the atrium at Citadel. He can’t help but wonder what an apartment in a neighbourhood like this must run Ignis, but then if he’s on Citadel’s payroll he’s probably making more than enough to cover it.

Gladiolus feels a twinge of self-doubt when he gets to the stoop, and it has him hesitating with one foot on the lowest step, the other firmly planted on the sidewalk.

The whole point of tonight is to get to know each other; to actually  _ talk, _ where they’ve been too busy shoving their hands under each other’s clothes to get anything more than a name. To say that it’s a daunting prospect is an understatement.

He takes a long breath and blows it out slowly. He uses his hands to push his hair out of his eyes, tucking the loose strands from his ponytail behind his ears, and turns his face upwards to hunt out where Ignis’s window might be on the third floor amid all the lit-up apartments. He can’t figure out which one — if any — belongs to Ignis, without going inside. Staying out here isn’t doing him any favours.

With a push, he jogs up the steps to the top of the stoop and hunts out Ignis’s name amongst all the buzzers.

Unsurprisingly, the label next to Ignis’s buzzer is unembellished; his name is written in neat print, surname only, and one of the corners is rolling upwards slightly beneath the little plastic cover shielding it from the elements. The name plaque immediately above his is adorned with a childish drawing of a flower.

With a prod of his pointer finger, Gladiolus dials the  _ SCIENTIA _ button and waits.

‘Gladiolus?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘I’ll buzz you up.’

The door emits a horrible, grating sound to let Gladiolus know it’s unlocked; hurriedly he pushes it open and lets himself in.

The fancy facade of the building belies a more modest interior; there’s a child’s bike in the hallway sitting on cracked tiles, and one of the lights is out along the walkway. There’s an elevator, at least, although it’s little more than a cage that Gladiolus can’t guarantee will hold his weight.

He’s relieved to find that the elevator seems sturdy enough once he steps into it, and it takes him up to Ignis’s floor with little issue. It even makes a pleasant  _ ding _ when it arrives.

Ignis’s door is already ajar. Sounds of cooking — and the accompanying smells — float out through the gap, and something about the pleasantness of it, the steady but peaceful rhythm, helps to put him somewhat at ease. With a slow breath, he presses his hand to the door and pushes it open.

If Gladiolus’s apartment is small, Ignis’s is  _ tiny. _ What it lacks for in size, however, it makes up for in cleanliness and organisation: Ignis has affected a minimalist style of decor, with furniture that all seems to fit neatly into place, and there’s not a scrap of clutter to be seen. Of course, it’s always possible that Ignis did the age-old tradition of scurrying around at the last minute to hide a lifetime worth of sins, but somehow Gladiolus doesn’t think that’s the case.

The kitchenette has its own little alcove, small enough that Ignis takes up most of the floor space as he moves from workspace to workspace.

‘Smells good,’ Gladiolus remarks, shutting the door behind him.

‘Won’t be too long,’ Ignis says. He doesn’t turn around; he seems harried. ‘Feel free to get comfortable.’

_ Comfortable _ is relative, Gladiolus finds. Even as he sinks into the plush leather sofa, he finds himself afraid of somehow disrupting the carefully-aligned zen of the living space. Where Ignis seems to take up such a small, unobtrusive footprint in the apartment, Gladiolus feels like his being here at all sends things into disarray.

He doesn’t have to wait too long, at least — once he sees Ignis begin to bring dishes through to the dining area, he hops to his feet to help.

There are steaming pots filled with fragrant curried meats and vegetables, plates of freshly-baked breads, a plethora of dips that seem to range from sweet to eye-wateringly hot. Gladiolus came with an empty belly, and he’s glad for it; there are so many different things for him to test and he wants to try them  _ all. _

‘Never knew you were such a gourmet,’ Gladiolus quips, impressed. ‘Can’t say the same about myself.’

Ignis gestures to one of the chairs at the table — it’s a small surface, so he has a trolley beside it to hold extra dishes — and takes his own seat across from it.

‘I’ve not often got the chance to cook for someone else,’ he says. ‘It hardly seems worth the trouble to whip up anything so extravagant when you’re eating alone.’

There’s wine, too — Gladiolus gratefully accepts a glassful and breathes in the scent, heady and a little on the sweet side.

‘Somethin’ tells me you don’t really do takeout,’ he says wryly. ‘Kinda learned to survive on it once I started living alone.’

It takes him a little while to register the silence, the tension, that settles over the table. When he does, he realises with a wince that it probably has to do with the indirect reference to his breakup with Pelna. He wonders if that’ll ever stop being a source of contention; if he can ever prove to Ignis that Pelna is thoroughly in the past.

‘So, uh,’ he says quickly, chasing his words with a brief swig of wine. ‘How long you been workin’ for Citadel?’

The diversion seems to work for the time being, at least, as Ignis glances to the middle-distance while he mentally calculates.

‘Must be about three years now,’ he replies. ‘Although I interned with them while I did my degree. That was how I met Noct — he used to come to the office after school sometimes and do his homework. I felt bad that he never got to spend much time with his father outside of that place.’

Gladiolus sighs sympathetically. He knows the pitfalls of being the son of a workaholic all too well; growing up, Noct never quite let on how much he missed spending time with his dad, but there were moments when he let his loneliness bleed through the facade of apathy.

‘Still kinda crazy you two know each other,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Small world.’

Ignis lifts his glance; meets Gladiolus’s across the table. His expression is maddeningly unreadable, as always.

‘It can be, sometimes,’ Ignis murmurs.

After a pause, he moves his hand to one of the pots in the centre of the table and nods his head toward it.

‘So,’ he says. ‘Shall we start?’

* * *

Gladiolus has tried his fair share of world foods over the years. Galahdian delicacies in particular — the stuff made by actual Galahdians, and not the greasy, substandard shit Lucians try to pawn off as  _ exotic _ — are a favourite. It seems Ignis cooked a little of everything for dinner, and Gladiolus can resoundingly say it’s some of the finest food he’s  _ ever _ had.

‘So where’d you learn to cook like that, anyways?’ Gladiolus asks. ‘Most people butcher Galahdian food.’

Ignis plays idly at the rim of his wine glass, the pad of his finger making a soft ringing sound as it goes.

‘I’m from Tenebrae, originally,’ he says. ‘Goods from Galahd are still considered a luxury over there. My mother used to bring me to the markets to buy fresh spices and seasonings, and she worked up quite a rapport with the Galahdian vendors there. It’s not difficult to cultivate an authentic dish, if you’re willing to try.’

Leave it to Ignis to be such a perfectionist. Gladiolus can almost picture him as a boy, a miniature version of the man sitting across the table from him, just as painstaking and meticulous back then.

He wonders at Ignis’s mention of his mother — other than his uncle, he doesn’t know a whole lot about Ignis’s family. Not that he’s even  _ met _ Ignis’s uncle, somehow, over the course of his whole tenancy.

‘Your mom, huh?’ he asks mildly. ‘She live in Insomnia too?’

Ignis shakes his head; there’s a little pain in his expression, and for a moment Gladiolus worries he’s struck on the fated  _ dead mom _ trope that he knows all too well, but Ignis seems to compose himself well enough soon after.

‘She’s… not well,’ Ignis says quietly. ‘My parents separated when I was too young to remember — my father moved to Insomnia for some ill-advised business venture with my uncle. When my mother fell ill, my father took me in.’

Gladiolus regrets bringing it up; it’s clear, even from Ignis’s restrained tones, that it’s a touchy subject. He opens his mouth to tell Ignis that he doesn’t need to explain anything if he’s not comfortable with it, but Ignis starts off again before he gets the chance.

‘I would have given anything to stay with her, but I was still very young,’ Ignis says. ‘I thought I could have looked after her, but she could scarcely look after  _ me.’ _

It’s probably the most Ignis has ever opened up about himself. Gladiolus reels a little under the weight of this new information, and for a moment he can only look at Ignis across the table, studying the slight sag of his shoulders where he sits.

He really  _ can _ picture Ignis as a little boy now — crushed by the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything to help; by the worry that he was a burden to the most important person in his world.

‘You ever go see her?’ he asks.

Ignis nods.

‘Every chance I get. It’s expensive, though — tickets alone cost me a week’s wages, and that’s before I pay for accommodation. It’s worth it to spend even a little time with her.’

Gladiolus lowers his head solemnly and looks down at the few scraps of food left on his plate. Suddenly, he can understand the modest apartment — it can’t be easy paying rent when you’re jetting back and forth to another country to spend time with family. He doesn’t even know what’s wrong with Ignis’s mother, but it must be bad. He can relate to the desire to spend as much time with her as Ignis can.

‘My mom, uh,’ he says quietly, clearing his throat. ‘My mom was half-Galahdian. Couldn’t cook worth a damn, but she always tried. I grew up liking things a little burnt.’

When he glances up, Ignis’s eyes are fixed on him.

_ ‘Was?’ _ Ignis echoes.

Gladiolus wets his lips and swallows; when that fails to dislodge the lump in his throat, he pours himself some wine and has to restrain himself from downing it all at once.

‘She died a long time ago,’ he says. ‘So I get it. Feeling like you wish there was something you could do.’

If Ignis’s admission had left a weighty silence over the table, Gladiolus’s only served to worsen it. Somehow, though, he’s glad it’s all out in the open. It feels like they’re actually starting to get to know each other, beyond the superficial. It’s a start.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ignis says softly.

Gladiolus shakes his head.

‘Don’t be,’ he replies. ‘I’m glad I knew her. She passed when Iris was too little to really remember her.’

Ignis clears his throat and sits back in his seat. He folds his hands in his lap and looks absently down at the table; for a while he seems to be lost in thought. Gladiolus might ask what’s bugging the guy if he thought there was any chance of getting an answer.

‘There was something my mom used to butcher every time,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Vegetables and lentils, deep-fried in batter. No matter what she did, they’d always fall to pieces. She used to dump ‘em on a plate, all soggy, and my old man and me’d eat ‘em because we didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.’

His story cracks the smallest of smiles on Ignis’s lips, and the sight of it sends pleasure ringing through Gladiolus. This is good — talking about their pasts. He’s never had a chance to reminisce about his mother with somebody who might understand.

_ ‘Ponako,’ _ Ignis says. ‘She was probably making the batter too thin.’

Gladiolus sounds out the word in his head. He imagines he can hear it in his mom’s voice, the way she’d slip into a Galahdian accent almost without realising it as she rattled off recipes her own mother had taught her — or tried to.

She used to talk fondly of her own mother, who passed away before Gladiolus was born; he still thinks sometimes he remembers her as well as if he’d known her himself, so vivid were his mom’s descriptions.

‘I could teach you to make it,’ Ignis suggests. His voice is soft, but it jars Gladiolus back to the moment. ‘It’s easy enough, once you know how to do it.’

Something twists at Gladiolus — gratitude, maybe. A little regret. He wonders what his mom would think of Ignis, if they could have met; what she’d think of all of this. It’s funny… There’d been a time when he’d wondered the same thing about Pelna.

‘Yeah,’ he says softly. ‘I think I’d like that.’

* * *

With the apartment in mood lighting — lamps dimmed, candles flickering on the shelves, and on the coffee table — it feels like a real first date. They sit sipping wine on the couch now that the food is eaten and the dishes have been cleared away; it’s late, but Gladiolus is in no rush to leave.

‘Living with Noct must have been quite an experience,’ Ignis says, glancing across his wine glass at Gladiolus with an amused smile. ‘I’m not sure I’d be able to hack it.’

Gladiolus shrugs. He loves Noct like a brother — but even though he’s more than grateful to the guy for offering up his apartment to him, he’s glad they’re not living together any more.

‘Kid’s a slob,’ he replies, with a snort. ‘Doubt Prompto’s much better.’

‘Prompto’s his roommate?’ Ignis asks.

‘Uh huh,’ Gladiolus says, ruffling a hand idly through his hair. ‘They’re practically joined at the hip. I think you met ‘im? When you dropped by my place that time?’

Ignis is quiet as he nods in response. After a moment, he glances away.

‘It’s been good, havin’ them around,’ Gladiolus adds. He sinks back a little into his seat and swirls the liquid in his glass while he thinks. ‘They’re like family now — Iris loves ‘em both, too.’

‘Found family,’ Ignis muses, quietly.

Gladiolus is about to press him on it, to ask if he has a found family of his own, but Ignis seems to be lost in thought.

He settles for reaching out and touching a gentle hand to Ignis’s knee instead. When Ignis turns — startled, almost, by the contact — their eyes meet; Gladiolus feels his heart knock heavily within his ribs as Ignis holds his glance at doesn’t let go.

Ignis is beautiful, he thinks, not for the first time. Not just handsome, not just sexy — although he’s both those things in spades — but  _ beautiful. _ His eyes are a purer green than Gladiolus has ever seen, his lips a warm pink that just begs to be kissed. A small scattering of dark freckles adorns his face, punctuating the creamy skin; the urge overcomes Gladiolus to reach out and touch them and he obeys it, lifting his hand to skirt his thumb against Ignis’s cheek.

What would Ignis say, if Gladiolus told him he was beautiful? Would it scare him away? Maybe they know a little of each other’s history now, but he doesn’t know what makes Ignis tick — wants to figure it out, to get inside that head, to get under his skin.

That first night at Fascination Street, all he wanted was to get under Ignis’s clothes. Gladiolus wonders if it was his wants that changed, or  _ him. _

He allows himself the indulgence of staring into Ignis’s eyes, taking them in as if it were the first time.

They’re a pale green, shot through with a deeper shade; the rings around them are so dark and crisp they’re almost black. The guy’s got a youthful face — youthful, at least, compared to how Gladiolus feels — but there are faint purple bruises under his eyes and little lines at the corners, like he’s been moving full steam ahead and praying that it doesn’t catch up to him.

Those green eyes flicker from Gladiolus’s, and down to his lips; linger there a moment before tentatively meeting his glance again. 

When Ignis shifts, Gladiolus is honest-to-gods anticipating a kiss — but then the guy lurches toward the coffee table and sets his wine aside before dropping to his knees on the floor in front of the couch.

It takes embarrassingly long for Gladiolus to register just what’s going on; by then Ignis is pushing his thighs apart, hands going for his thighs.

It would be so easy to let this carry on to its natural conclusion, so easy to obey the need that threads through Gladiolus, that has his breath catching in his throat. Even easier, he thinks, to delve fingers into that perfectly styled hair and tug at it, to urge him on.

Gladiolus  _ wants —  _ he  _ wants _ Ignis, wants what he’s doing, feels his cock twitch immediately to life at the slight brush of Ignis’s hand against him — but he knows, with a dull pang of certainty, that they  _ can’t. _

‘Ignis,’ he murmurs.

Ignis lifts his glance; there’s something at once coy and suggestive about the twist of his lips, like he’s slipped into the persona that makes it impossible to read what he really feels.

‘Relax,’ he says, one hand kneading into Gladiolus’s thigh as the other deftly slips his belt open. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

The first touch of his hand on Gladiolus’s cock, as Ignis delves his hand within his briefs, is almost enough to have Gladiolus giving in. A breath shudders out past his lips and his eyes flutter shut, even as the nagging voice in the back of his head tells him to stop.

Ignis slips him free, exposing the elegant length of his neck as he leans forward and mouths against Gladiolus’s dick.

‘Ignis,’ Gladiolus says, fighting every instinct coursing through him. ‘Wait.’

His words are enough, finally, to give Ignis pause. He glances up, and Gladiolus can see a flash of some unpleasant emotion cross his face. Ignis’s eyes go distant, and he moves to pull away — but before he can get far, Gladiolus gently takes hold of his wrist.

‘Why do you always do that?’ Gladiolus asks.

‘Do what?’ Ignis asks sharply, tugging his arm in a bid to remove it from Gladiolus’s grasp.

Gladiolus doesn’t let go.

_ ‘That,’ _ he says, with a sweeping gesture. ‘Go all cold like that. You do it every goddamn time I ask you to stop.’

A flush reddens Ignis’s cheeks that might even be sexy, in contrast with his skin, if not for the irritation that lights up his eyes. Gladiolus sees him open his mouth, probably ready with some barbed rebuttal, only to pause and sigh, the fight slipping away from him all at once.

‘You’re… not the only one with baggage,’ Ignis says quietly.

He lowers his head, kneading his fingertips into Gladiolus’s thighs, before pushing himself up. As Gladiolus carefully tucks himself away, Ignis takes a seat beside him once more.

‘You can talk to me, Iggy,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Ain’t goin’ anywhere.’

With a sigh, Ignis lifts a hand and sweeps it through his hair.

‘May I tell you something that might sound a bit strange?’ he asks.

Gladiolus nods and gestures for him to continue.

‘When we first met,’ Ignis says, ‘I’ll admit I thought you were attractive, but in the sort of way that was painfully out of my league. That night at the Street, you looked at me like a man who was drowning.’

It’s an awful poetical way of putting it, but Gladiolus can’t say he disagrees. He can still remember that instant tug of attraction — even thinking of that first time he saw  _ Iggy _ strut into the bar makes his cock twitch.

‘I knew I’d never have a chance with you on an average day, so I took the plunge,’ Ignis continues. ‘And then… you kept coming back for more.’

‘That a bad thing?’ Gladiolus asks, with a chuckle.

Ignis shoots him a look.

‘There’s a line,’ he says, his tone measured. He flattens his hand and draws it straight across through the air, to demonstrate his words. ‘There’s Ignis, and there’s Iggy. Normally, people don’t meet both. Normally… people don’t want to.’

Ignis glances away, and his Adam’s apple bobs visibly as he swallows. It’s plain to see that it’s tough for him to spit all of this out — gently, Gladiolus stretches his arm across the back of the sofa and lays his hand on Ignis’s shoulder by way of encouragement.

‘It’s easier this way,’ Ignis says. ‘You can’t get hurt if you don’t let people in.’

It’s cynical as hell, and Gladiolus almost says as much; he can understand it, though. There was a time when he thought he’d never be over Pelna, never be ready to let somebody else fill that void in his life, and yet here he is…

He gives Ignis’s shoulder a squeeze.

‘What’s different ‘bout me?’ he asks. ‘Why’d you let me in?’

Ignis is silent for a while, his hands clasped so tightly in his lap that his knuckles go white. Whatever it is that he wants to say, he seems to be having trouble getting past the hard part of opening his mouth.

When Ignis turns to Gladiolus, finally, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he leans over and slips his hand into Gladiolus’s hair, and presses their lips together.

For all that the kiss is chaste — a definite step back from a few minutes ago, when Ignis’d been ready to blow him — Gladiolus can feel a knot of longing in his chest. Not desire; just…  _ wanting. _

‘You wouldn’t bloody well give up,’ Ignis says, a hair’s breadth from Gladiolus’s lips; when he chuckles, his breath is warm against them.

He touches his forehead to Gladiolus’s for a long moment before he finally pulls away, and the sudden distance between them makes Gladiolus’s heart ache.

‘There’s Ignis, and there’s Iggy,’ Ignis says. ‘Sometimes I’m so busy trying to keep the two apart that I… I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to be _. _ When you look at me, you make me feel like… like there is no Ignis, no Iggy. Just  _ me.’ _

It’s a lot to take in. Gladiolus stews it over, and he can’t say that he  _ gets _ it — not on any personal level — but he’s starting to understand some things that have had him stumped for a while.

‘You don’t need to fuck me to keep me around,’ Gladiolus says. ‘I meant it when I said we should get to know each other. Don’t get me wrong — when you were kneelin’ down there lookin’ up at me like that, I started to regret  _ everything—’ _ Ignis smirks slightly at this, glancing away ‘—but I’m not just here for the sex. I’m here for  _ you. _ Baggage and all.’

With a sigh, Ignis leans forward and reclaims his wine glass. He drinks from it like he’s parched — or maybe it’s just to rebuild his courage after laying himself so bare. When he sets the glass aside, his lips are wet with the liquid and he has to blot at them, which only makes Gladiolus want to kiss him all the more.

‘Would you stay the night?’ Ignis asks. ‘Not — not for sex, I promise. Just…’

He doesn’t need to finish.

‘Course,’ Gladiolus says. ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. _Finally._
> 
> *deep sigh of relief*
> 
> Gonna be curtains very soon for this story, just a little longer...


End file.
